


there echoes a speck of our source

by unsung (shakespork)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 40k of Thinly Veiled PWP, Alpha Original Percival Graves, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Feudal Politics, Background Het, Complicated Relationships, Consequences, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Graves is a Dick, Impregnation, Insecurity, Internalized Misogyny, Kid Fic, Letters, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medieval Sexting, Mildly Dubious Consent, Miscarriage (Mentioned), Mpreg, Omega Credence Barebone, Panic Attacks, Patriarchy, Personal Growth, Pregnancy Kink, References to Depression, Rough Sex, Symbolism, Time Skips, Unreliable Narrator, Warlocks, again sort of its abo its complicated, difficult conversations, graves is a dick but he's not a monster, no underage and no noncon like im v careful with that, obviously, sort of???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 20:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespork/pseuds/unsung
Summary: Percival Graves was known for many things in their world—the patriarch of the Graves clan, he was a great warlock and a greater politician. His wealth and power rivaled many human kings, expanding over forests and lakes and many villages of the magical realm. He was a formidable alpha, built from generations of pure blood and breeding. His magic was so strong that they said he could level mountains with a single flick of his hand, and call up seas with a passing word.With such a reputation and with a tide of deeds to back it up, the most interesting thing about him was almost innocuous; Percival Graves had twelve children, and in his whole life he took only one omega to birth them all.





	there echoes a speck of our source

**Author's Note:**

> started from pwp now we're here

 

Percival Graves was known for many things in their world—the patriarch of the Graves clan, a great warlock, and a greater warrior. His wealth and power rivaled many human kings, unfurling over forests and lakes and many villages of the magical realm. His loyalty to his liege lords was second only to his loyalty to his family. He was a formidable alpha, built from generations of pure blood and breeding. His magic was so strong that they said he could level mountains with a single flick of his hand, and call up seas with a passing word.

With such a reputation and with a tide of deeds to back it up, the most interesting thing about him was almost innocuous; Percival Graves had twelve children, and in his whole life he took only one omega to whelp them all.

  


* * *

  


Credence had spit dribbling down his chin. He pushed back against the mattress, fumbling in the dark for a grip. The hands at his waist only shoved him down further.

“Graves—” he whined..

Graves grabbed his hair and guided him face-first onto the bed, so that Credence’s back arched in presentation.

Credence pushed back. “W-wait—”

“I’ve waited long enough, my love,” Graves growled, pressing against Credence’s hips so he could feel the hot length of him. “I’ve defied my house and clan for you, and now you must bear me an heir.”

Credence shivered at the heated warning in Graves’ voice, and hated how it made his stomach squirm in nervous arousal.

He yelped when Graves pushed aside his robes and smallclothes, tugging Credence’s legs apart with some impatience. The scent of Credence’s slick was seeping into the room, and Graves inhaled it greedily, chasing it to the source. He licked a wet stripe over Credence’s hole, and Credence moaned, burying his face in a pillow.

Graves grunted, settling on his elbows and pulling Credence’s ass closer.

Graves licked in until Credence could feel his tongue on his inner walls, a hot slick weight prodding him and stretching him open. Graves squeezed his ass with one hand and then pushed in two fingers. Credence mewled at the burn, squirming.

“Fucking… virgin cunt,” Graves hissed, entranced by the way Credence clenched around him. Even such a slender invasion made him shiver and ache. Graves shuddered thinking about how much the girth of his cock would make Credence cry.

It wouldn’t do good to hurt him too much, though. Graves had fought for this omega, threw away tradition and went head-to-head with the most stubborn of the Graves elders so he could have Credence. It wasn’t forbidden for warlocks to take human spouses, but it was unusual, and unusual had meant a lot of work for Graves. To expend so much effort only to scare Credence away now would make no sense.

Graves made his decision then, and pulled his face away. Credence gasped at the loss, but Graves didn’t give him much time to mourn before he flipped him over onto his back and plugged Credence up again.

“Ahn!”

Graves slapped his thigh. “Quiet—no need to make a scene.”

Credence bit his tongue and looked at Graves with trepidation. There were tears gathering in his eyes. Graves growled to make Credence collect himself, but it only made Credence curl up even more.

Understanding that his usual tactics weren’t going to work, Graves sighed and stroked Credence’s thigh apologetically.

“Look at me,” he said. Credence took a deep breath and turned his head. Graves smiled, and then crooked his fingers inside Credence. “If you keep silent, I’ll let you come.”

Credence’s eyes widened at the proposal, and Graves could feel his heartbeat speed up. The sudden wetness on his fingers gave away Credence’s agreement.

Graves was going to make him come anyway, but let Credence feel like he had an active part in this.

Graves lowered his head and swallowed Credence’s cock down, pumping his fingers in time to the bobs of his head. Credence let out a strangled noise, but muffled it quickly with his hands. Graves looked up, and his cock twitched at the sight of Credence, eyes shut and hands stuffed into his mouth, struggling to contain himself. Who knew he was a screamer? Graves wondered at how he could exploit this in the future. 

Spurred on by every one of Credence’s half-swallowed moans, Graves pushed in another finger and scissored them, stretching out the tense muscle. Slick was dripping steadily down Graves’s hand, pooling in his palm and soaking the bedding under them. 

Graves moved off Credence’s cock with a growl. “Fucking filthy.”

Credence shivered at the words and clenched around Graves’s fingers. He was close.

Graves grinned and sped up the pace, fucking into Credence with smooth gestures of his hand.

“Do you like it when you’re filthy, Credence?” Graves asked. “Look at you, all red on my sheets. Soon I’ll fill you up and breed you.”

Credence whimpered and came with a silent shudder, curling around where Graves still moved inside him with merciless precision. Graves made sure every thrust brushed against Credence’s prostate until he was writhing from overstimulation. He wondered if he could coax a second climax from him that soon.

Credence’s hands came to push him away, so Graves didn’t get to satisfy his curiosity. His cock twitched, angry at being forgotten, and Graves decided Credence was stretched enough. He sat up and crawled until he was settled over Credence’s narrow frame, reaching down to push Credence’s legs apart and settle his hips there.

Credence’s eyes shot open when he felt Graves’ cock over his entrance, and his hands came up to clutch at Graves’s arms. He stuttered out a, “W-wait!”

Graves stilled.

Credence struggled to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat, trying in vain to close his legs. Graves was settled too firmly between them to do much. Credence risked a glance towards Graves’ cock, the hard length burning against the skin of his inner thigh, and blanched. It was big.

“I-I—” he said in a strangled voice, swallowed, tried again. His fingers dug into Graves’ bicep. “It won’t fit.”

Graves growled, knocking Credence’s hands away and lying over him, pushing his nose into the crook of Credence’s shoulder. Credence stiffened, but Graves didn’t make a move to force himself inside. He just took in a deep breath and said into the skin of Credence’s throat, “Do you smell yourself?”

Credence balked. “W-what?”

Graves lifted his head and fixed Credence with a gaze so full of broiling heat it made him squirm.

“Do you smell yourself?” he repeated.

Credence shook his head mutely.

Graves reached down and dipped a finger into Credence’s hole, and it came out wet and easy. He brought the finger up and smeared the slick over Credence’s bottom lip. 

“You smell like ecstacy,” said Graves, and Credence inhaled. It was sweet and ripe, with something salted and honest. It made his skin flush and something in his groin spark. By the frightening hardness of Graves’ cock, the effects were mutual.

Graves watched Credence’s pupils dilate further, and then said, “It’ll fit.”

The words brought Credence back.

“But—” He squirmed, turning away and shutting his eyes. “It’s not a true heat, I— I won’t bear an alpha.” He glanced at Graves with some sort of pleading. “M-maybe we should wait—”

Graves snorted and sat up, ignoring Credence’s whimper when he grabbed Credence’s thighs and pulled him closer.

“You don’t need a heat to birth me an alpha. And a true heat comes once in a decade,” said Graves, and grinned, feral and hungry. “I’m not waiting that long to fuck you.”

He flipped Credence over, relishing in Credence’s muffled yelp of shock. He pulled at Credence’s thighs until his ass was flush to Graves’ cock, stretched and ready. They were back to their original positions, and Graves was done waiting.

Credence was still struggling, though.

“Wait, my lord, please!” he said, turning his head, trying to turn them around. “I don’t want— Not like this—”

“It will be easier for you to take me this way,” Graves explained tetchily, stroking down Credence’s spine until it arched. “It’s the better position for a first time.”

The implication that it wasn’t the last time rung loud. Credence’s hole clenched in anticipation, and Credence gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to grind back against Graves. His thoughts were running away from him, making it difficult to breathe in this heat. He was… he was scared, but he also couldn’t lie, couldn’t deny that he wanted this. In some filthy part of him, the idea of Graves fucking him, filling him full of his seed and making Credence swell with his children was so manically alluring. Credence was a moth to a flame.

Graves stroked a finger over Credence’s entrance, humming. “Come on, Credence, let go.” He leaned in, whispering into Credence’s ear and Credence could feel Graves’ cock press flush against him. “You conceded to marry me, so let’s do our married duty.”

Credence shivered and moaned, pressing his face into the pillow. Graves almost missed his timid nod, the minute spreading of his legs. He didn’t miss the way Credence’s back arched into a perfect presentation, like a fruit ripe for the taking.

“Glorious,” Graves whispered, and wasted no time into lining himself up and pushing into Credence.

Credence gasped and lifted off of the pillow, mouth dropping open as his brain stuttered trying to process the new sensation. Graves was much larger than his fingers, a heated girth filling him up until his hips ached.

“G-Graves!” he choked out.

Graves stroked his flanks and shushed him, encouraging him to breathe. “That’s it, just relax, let me in.”

Credence sucked in a shuddering breath and let go of his muscles one by one. His legs shook with the effort, but sure enough, Graves slid in further until he was pushed in to the hilt.

“Shit,” Graves hissed. Credence was so hot around him, just begging for Graves to snap his hips and fill him over and over again. He had half the mind to do just that when he opened his eyes and saw Credence shivering. Graves frowned.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Credence nodded, still staring somewhere into the depths of the bedsheet. His head rested on one folded arm, the other braced by his head.

“I’m—” he started, and then licked his lips. “Big.”

Graves snorted and stroked Credence’s sides, waiting for him to adjust. It was just bad luck that Credence was a virgin—Graves never liked sleeping with those. Too fragile, too easily turned off the whole thing. Graves would have to be careful to make Credence liked this, because he would not spend the rest of his life with someone who shrank away from his touch.

Credence squirmed and brought Graves back from his thoughts. Graves grunted in question.

“Please,” said Credence, and shifted his hips. “Move. I want—” He licked his lips, looking uncertain. He clenched around Graves, seeking relief, and whined when he couldn’t explain what he needed.

Graves listened and obliged, sliding out and thrusting back in. Credence sighed and closed his eyes, letting his arms fold and lower him down. His hips moved against Graves’, searching for friction, but Graves didn’t budge.

“Again?”

Credence whined in frustration and nodded.

Graves tutted. “Words, Credence..”

“Again, please.”

Graves rewarded him by drawing out and thrusting back in. 

Credence moaned. “Again.”

Graves snapped his hips forward.

“Again!”

Credence was growing frustrated, but he was also learning the rules of their little game. If only he knew how close Graves’ control was to fraying, but, better let Credence guide their first encounter. Graves would get the chance to fuck him with abandon later.

Credence cried out, “Again! Again!” and Graves obliged, keeping pace to Credence’s words. The air was thick with the slapping of flesh, with their heated breathing. Credence was growing bolder, slipping in, “Harder! Please, harder!” into his commands. The words blurred into a litany of noise to Graves’ ears. He was too focused on the filthy drag of his cock inside Credence, the way Credence’s skin dimpled and bruised beneath his fingers. The way Credence had pettered off into moans muffled by the pillow, the stuttering thrusts of his hips giving commands of their own.

Graves was climbing his peak.

He reached around Credence as best as he could, grasping his cock and tugging in time to his thrusts. Credence’s cried out and faltered, caught between pushing against Graves’ cock or thrusting into Graves’ hand. Graves tightened his grip, wanting Credence to come before he did. It was always better to fuck him through an orgasm, to feel him clench around Graves and milk him for his seed.

“Graves— Graves, I—” Credence choked out, and then he was spilling again into Graves’ hand, sobbing as he writhed on Graves’ cock.

Graves grunted as Credence’s walls clenched around him like a vice, pushing through until it became too much and too good and he spilled into him, groaning.

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, pumping his softening cock into Credence’s wet heat. “Take every last drop of it.”

Credence whimpered, hand grasping weakly at the bedsheets.

Graves pulled out and sat back on his heels, watching the way Credence’s hips slid back down onto the bed. A milky bead of Graves’ come dribbled out of him, and it made something in Graves’ stomach give a pleased growl.

He slapped Credence’s ass, and it was a testament to Credence’s exhaustion that he didn’t react.

“Rest,” said Graves, standing up and looking for his breeches. He found them under the bed. His jacket and shirt were where he left them, however; hanging neatly on the chair by the fire. His boots stood by the door. He turned to Credence, who was already dozing. “I will see you tomorrow, here if not in the Hall.” He patted Credence’s leg. “Eh, Credence?”

Credence cracked open one eye and watched him with hazy confusion.

Graves grinned, hand running up to Credence’s ass. “Tomorrow will be easier too.”

Credence closed his eyes and fell asleep, too tired to parse out Graves’ words.

  


* * *

  


The next evening, after Graves had stretched Credence open and was about to push him into presentation, Credence halted him with a hand on Graves’ chest. Graves growled, annoyed at being stopped now.

“I want to…” Credence licked his lips, and turned his body so he was facing Graves fully. “I want to see your face. You said it would be fine the second time.”

Graves frowned, and then remembered his words from the night before. He snorted. “No, I said that taking you from behind would hurt you less the first time, but, as you wish.”

He pushed Credence down and settled between his thighs, hiking up Credence’s leg around Graves’ waist. 

Credence looked up at him with trepidation, and Graves pushed in slowly, cataloguing every twitch of Credence’s face as he did so. It was tighter, like this. He could see Credence was feeling it too, but still, Credence did not complain.

When Graves asked how he should move, Credence stuttered out that he wanted it deep and hard.

Graves hooked Credence’s legs over his shoulders and complied, watching Credence’s face twist in pleasure. Maybe he got off on pain, or maybe it was the intimacy of the act, but Credence came harder than he did the night before. Graves watched his face as he climaxed, committing every expression to memory. It was exquisite.

Again, Graves left Credence to sleep as soon as they had finished, promising to come back tomorrow.

  


* * *

  


On the third night, Graves taught Credence how to prepare himself. He had Credence push in slender fingers alongside Graves’, and feel himself from the inside out.

“Do you like it?” said Graves.

Credence grunted and readjusted his hand. “I…” He flushed a bright red.

Amused by the reaction, Graves said, “What?”

Credence whispered, “I like it when you do it better.”

Graves grinned, and fucked Credence harder that night, until Credence was crying out at every thrust. They were face to face again, and when Credence came, he buried his face into Graves’ throat and wailed. His insides dripped with Graves’ come.

Before he got a chance to leave, after, Credence grasped the sleeve of his coat and asked, “How many times will you come back, my lord?”

Graves blinked, because it was obvious. “Until you are pregnant.”

“Oh,” said Credence, and swallowed. “But… how will you know?”

Graves thought, and made a decision.

  


* * *

  


He had the nuns bring the moon tea the next morning. With normal omegas, Graves knew, you could tell by smell and sight when they were pregnant. Unlike female betas, omegas changed with child. Credence, however, was a male omega, rare and unstudied, so they’d have to use moontea for now. Credence barely smelled like anything, anyway, and Graves wondered if he’d ever be able to tell without the tea.

Credence eyed the pale blue liquid with skepticism. 

“Will that really tell me if I’m pregnant?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Graves. “If you are, your urine will turn pink. Now drink it.”

Credence wrinkled his nose, but drank the cup dry anyway.

Graves made sure to fuck him more thoroughly that night.

  


* * *

  


The first of their offspring announced themselves on a fine winter morning, and not a moment too soon, in Graves’ opinion. After almost a month of nightly visits, he was sure his cock was about to fall off. Credence had taken to walking around the castle with a slight limp, complaining innocently of back aches and beard burn to his blushing entourage of handmaids. He was starting to feel more comfortable in the castle, thanks in part to his own gentle character and in part to Graves’ frequent and enthusiastic acceptance of him as a spouse. Credence wore a constant necklace of hickeys, sometimes visible and sometimes not. It kept the elders at bay, with proof of their efforts to conceive if not promises of Graves’ protection.

Credence received the news of his pregnancy with some shock. He’d been drinking the moon tea regularly, and had given up on checking for colour changes. The change was instead discovered by a chambermaid, who’d gone straight to Graves with news.

‘ _You’re pregnant_ ’ were not the words Credence expected to hear at that breakfast, judging by the way his spoon clattered out of his slack grip.

Graves expected an exclamation of joy, or at least a smile, but instead, Credence bolted out of the room and into the nearest privy, where he quickly emptied his stomach of whatever he did manage to eat before Graves’ announcement.

The pregnancy developed in a similar way—every new change was hard on Credence, wracking his body with morning sickness and deep aches. Graves felt guilty whenever Credence refused food out of knowledge that he’d just throw it back up again. He should have waited until Credence was stronger, until he’d recovered from his traumatic betrothal and the battles Graves fought for him after it. He worried for their child, convinced it was an alpha. Who else could wreck so much havoc on Credence?

Credence improved after about three months, starting to eat better and feel brighter. His stomach swelled with their child, pushing out of his thin frame. Graves ordered a whole new wardrobe for him, full of thick cotton and soft furs to keep out the winter chill. Credence stared at the new clothes with awe, noting the way they all left space to accommodate his growing belly.

“But won’t it all go to waste?” he asked, hand curling over the swell. “Once this child is out.”

Graves chuckled, leaning in to whisper, “Don’t worry, Credence. Even if this child does turn out to be an alpha, they won’t be the last. You’re too tempting a sight, swollen with my seed.”

Credence shivered at the words.

They learned that, if Graves took Credence from behind, it didn’t jostle his stomach too much, and they could both enjoy the experience.

  


* * *

  


Just as summer was stepping into the air, Graves received a summons from his liege lord, and he rode off with seventy of his finest men. A rogue clan of wildmen, somewhere in the south, that had to be fought back before they breached the borders of the magical realms.

Graves was gone for two months.

He arrived in the middle of August, when the heat was at its highest and the flowers filled the air with their scent. Credence was swollen beyond belief, finding it difficult to stand for more than a few hours. He looked fit to burst, and the whole castle was abuzz with excitement. Everyone, from the scullery maids to the highest elders, were awaiting the arrival of the newest Graves.

Two weeks after his return, Graves was awoken in the middle of the night by a messenger boy.

“My lord,” the boy said, bowing and ignoring the way Graves haphazardly threw his clothes on. “The Lord Consort is in labour.”

Graves pulled on his boots with even more haste and followed the boy out the door, down the hallways and staircases of the castle. 

As per tradition, Graves had to be there for the arrival of their firstborn. It would be bad luck to miss it, would spell sickly children and lost babies in the future.

Graves nodded in thanks to the messenger boy as he entered Credence’s apartments, catching pained wails muffled by heavy wooden doors. A nun walked out to meet him.

“My Lord, I’m glad that you’re here,” she said, leading him forward. “The baby is coming.”

Graves clenched his hands, suddenly unsure. He could win battles, cast powerful spells, but a baby? All of his bravado, his calm assurance that this was meant to be, went out the window. He was lost.

The nun pushed open the doors and Credence’s cries washed over him with renewed force. There was a whole army of midwives and nuns crouched around Credence’s bed, whispering encouragements and orders to breathe, to push, to keep strong, _look at how well you’re doing it’s almost done_.

Graves took his place at the head of Credence’s bed, not even registering the group of nuns that parted to give him way. His hand found Credence’s, and Graves winced at the iron grip. Credence turned to him, his eyes pleading, unsure and frightened.

“You’re going to be okay,” Graves found himself saying. “There you go, just breathe, it’s nearly over.”

Credence watched him without a word, but Graves could see the muscles of his abdomen clench. He placed his spare had on Credence’s stomach and felt the baby shift, moving forward with every contraction of Credence’s womb.

With a broken cry, Credence threw back his head and pushed the baby out, shuddering violently and crushing Graves’ hand. Graves would have hissed if not for the new sound that stole his breath away—a thin wail. Credence must have heard it too, because he let out a shuddering breath and tried to move towards it.

The midwives shushed him and pushed him back onto the bed, handing him a small, warm bundle. Graves leaned in to look too, his eyes greeted by a scrunched-up red face and a clenched fist. He inhaled, catching the scent of a beta girl. _His_ beta girl.

“What shall we name her?” whispered Credence, entranced but fading fast from his exhaustion.

“Primula,” said Graves.

“I like that,” said Credence, and slipped away into sleep.

  


* * *

  


They were sitting in the gardens, enjoying the fading light of the summer day, when Credence turned to him with a question. Primula slept in his arms, full from the wetnurse’s milk and warm in her swaddles. 

“Primula means… the first?” he said, looking at Graves. Credence knew Latin—the only good thing his mother taught him.

Graves nodded, smiling in the sun. “It’s a Graves tradition, to name your firstborn that,” he said. “My elder brother was Primus. He was a beta.”

Credence bit his lip at the use of past tense, but didn’t ask. He said, “So you are the youngest of two?”

“Youngest of three,” corrected Graves. “My sister Alana is also a beta. She’s warring in the south now.”

Credence nodded and took the information to heart. He wondered if he’d ever get to meet his sister in law, and if she would love her new niece as much as Credence loved his new daughter.

  


* * *

  


Primula was a quiet, stern toddler when Graves brought up the idea of a second baby. 

The last two years were blissful for Credence. Primula was an easy child, sleeping often and crying only when she needed to eat or be changed. It was easy to guess her moods and to keep her happy, and she asked for little from her parents. Graves said she would grow into a great protector, but Credence didn’t want to think about her growing. He wanted her to stay little forever.

“We should give her a sibling to keep her from getting lonely,” said Graves one night, after they had tumbled and fucked in the bed. He trailed a hand to Credence’s stomach, drawing swirling patterns in the skin.

“She’s not lonely,” said Credence.

“Well, then,” said Graves, changing track. “I want another child.”

Credence shivered. “I don’t—” He remembered his last pregnancy, and all the trouble it entailed. He’d been drinking herbs for the last two years that kept him from conceiving. “I didn’t like being pregnant.”

Graves propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at Credence. “The first pregnancy is always the hardest. This one will be easier.”

Credence bit his lip. “How do you know?” he said quietly.

“I may be alpha, but I’m not blind,” said Graves. “I’ve already talked to the midwives, they say it’s a good time for you to birth again.”

Credence blinked and breathed in, whispering, “You’ve talked to the midwives?”

“Yes,” said Graves, and sat up, getting ready to leave. “Tomorrow you will stop taking your herbs. I will visit you every night, like before.” He made a move to stand up from the bed, but Credence grabbed his wrist.

“Wait, I—” he stuttered, licking his lips. He looked uncertain. “Do I have to—”

Graves growled and leaned over Credence, pressing his wrists into the bed. “Do you remember what you promised me?” he said.

Credence turned his face into the pillows.

Graves shook him. “Do you remember, Credence?”

Credence gave a minute nod of his head.

“Say it.”

“I remember.”

“Good,” said Graves, and he let go of Credence’s wrists. “And do you remember what you said when you married me?” He looked Credence in the eye. “When I saved you from your mother and fought to bring you to the magic realms?”

“I remember.”

“What did you say, Credence?”

Credence looked up, pained. “I said…” He sucked in a breath. “I said I would give you an heir.”

“Yes,” said Graves, and stroked Credence’s legs. “An alpha heir.”

Credence shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. Graves was still staring at him, eyes following the contours of Credence’s body. 

“And you will give me children until you can give me an heir,” Graves whispered.

“Alright,” said Credence.

  


* * *

  


Six months later, Credence was pregnant.

They had trouble conceiving. Maybe it was the herbs, or maybe they just got the time wrong, but Graves had to visit him for far longer. They tried to do it nightly, at first, but it exhausted them too much. At the advice of a midwife—whose eyebrows disappeared into her hair when she learned they’d been fucking every day—they pettered it out to rarer visits. 

Graves came by whenever he could. On one occasion that still had Credence blushing, Graves had pulled Credence aside into one empty corridor and fucked him against a wall. They could hear the bustle of the castle the whole time, praying nobody would walk in and see them. Maybe Credence had wanted to be seen. Graves’ come had ended up mostly on Credence’s thighs and robes, but the dazed look in Graves’ eyes was worth it. Another time, Graves had come to his rooms after a feast, and spent an hour rutting into Credence and whispering filth in his ear. He said Credence was warm and tight, and that his womb was begging for Graves to fill it with seed. That the whole world would forget what Credence looked like not swollen with Graves’ children. Credence had come so hard he’d seen white spots, and Graves spent the night sleeping in Credence’s bed.

As Graves had promised, this pregnancy was much easier than the first. Credence still threw up his breakfast for the first three months, but at least he could get supper down. His back didn’t ache as much, and the birth itself was shorter and smoother.

Their second child, a pretty little omega, came squealing into the world one day late in the winter. Graves held her with all the tenderness in the world, and said, “We should name her after my sister.”

Little Alana, however, was not as easy to raise as Primula. She was fussy and threw tantrums often, demanding the attention of her sire when he was away, and her wetnurse when the wetnurse was sleeping. She only quietened with Credence, lulled by his gentle voice and kind words.

“She’s going to be a tough one to marry off,” Graves had grumbled, after Alana had thrown up her dinner all down his front, again.

“She will make a formidable queen, though,” Credence countered softly, rocking her to sleep.

Graves hummed in agreement, appeased. Yes, he thought. Alana would accept nobody less than a king. Graves supposed he should feel lucky that the Graves family would gain royal connections.

  


* * *

  


Their third child came just a year after, and Credence had an even easier time with this one.

Baby Guinevere was an omega like her sister, and just as primp and fussy. The two made a terrifying pair, terrorising nannies and wetnurses left and right. Guinevere was very much a daddy’s girl, taking to Graves’ gruff nature like a duck to water. Even his thunderous temper didn’t frighten her, on the occasion that she did see it. It was never directed at her, though—Graves doted on his third daughter as much as she gurgled happily at him.

Credence was worried that Primula wouldn’t like her new sisters, but the girl had to take only a single look at the babies before she swore to protect them with her life. At four, Primula seemed to know the true meaning of the words, and she looked it too. Credence didn’t know whether to laugh or to smother her with kisses.

While Graves was delighted with his children, the council of elders was not.

“The human has given birth to nothing but whelps,” they said. “The closest thing we have to a lineage is a _beta_.”

Graves didn’t argue back with them. He was convinced an heir was coming, buoyed by the joy of his new family. After all, he and Credence had only been married five years.

  


* * *

  


Sometime during the year of Guinevere’s birth, Graves learned of a tragedy: a distant cousin, two or three times removed, had died and left two young daughters destitute. The news was broken to him almost carelessly, over dinner. 

An uncle had leaned in and said, “Oh, Percy. Your attendance is requested at Northbridge-over-Avon.”

Graves hummed and turned his head towards him, drinking down his last few bites with wine. “Some occasion?” 

“A funeral,” said the uncle. “Don’t worry, shouldn’t take too long.” He paused, frowning. “Though, there is the question of what to do with the girls.”

Graves stopped. He said, “The girls?”

The uncle nodded, swiping his soup bowl with bread. “Yes, two of them.” He chewed thoughtfully. “Porpentina and Quinn, I think.” He shrugged, going back to his soup. “Terrible thing, really. No immediate relatives to care for them. I suppose they’ll be sent to a nunnery.”

Graves shifted in his seat, discomfited. His thoughts were half with his uncle and half with his own young daughters. He frowned. They were so small. Primula had just turned five, and her voice was hesitant and sweet when she tried to form her thoughts into sentence. Alana had recently learned to walk. The last he’d seen of Guinevere, that evening before supper, she was soft and sleeping in her cradle, innocent to the world. If Graves died, they would still be safe. They would have his family’s wealth and protection to guide them for the rest of their lives. They would grow up fatherless but happy, shielded from poverty and pain.

Graves looked at his hands.

If they were just simple people, however, alone and helpless in the world, Graves’ death would spell their decline. He couldn’t even think about that; the slow suffering of those he had come to treasure above all. To think some other little girls were facing such a fate...

His wine was bitter in his mouth. 

“Nonsense,” he whispered. The uncle stopped eating and turned to Graves.

Graves cleared his throat and sat up straight. He said, “Nonsense.” He turned to the uncle, and tried a nonchalant look. “They’ll come stay with us. After all, they’re still family, however distant.”

The uncle stilled, and then smiled, bowing his head. “Very good, my lord.”

  


* * *

  


Porpentina and Quinn arrived a few weeks later, sad and lost and so desperate to fit into their new home. Tina, the eldest, was fourteen. Graves saw some smart spark in her, and sent her off to learn with his scribes and notaries.

“She could make a good aide,” he said to Credence one night.

Credence kissed him on the chest.

  


* * *

  


Tina did make a good aide.

  


* * *

  


Graves missed the birth of their fourth child. He’d been called away to the south a while after Guinevere’s first nameday, leaving Credence with a kiss and a stomach full of seed. Credence didn’t think it would take, but three months later he was seeing a bump and Graves still hadn’t returned.

He received letters, though, infrequent as they were. Graves’ sister, Alana, had asked for reinforcements from their liege lord, and was sent Graves. The fae kingdoms of the south were stirring up trouble, and their royals wanted war. Graves was struggling to prevent it, and sure enough, his promise of three months turned to six, then nine, then twelve. 

He returned to a new son, a beta named Joseph. When he asked Credence what the name meant, Credence replied that it was the name of the father of his human God. Graves approved.

  


* * *

  


The council of elders cornered Graves on the evening of the winter solstice. He was leaving their meeting when they brought up their true cause of concern:

“You have had that human boy for seven years now, Percival,” said the stooge by the name of Quiburn. “And we have yet to see an alpha.”

Graves turned to him with a frown. He despised Quiburn. “I have four healthy children. Is that not enough?”

“No,” sniffed Quiburn. “The Graves Lineage needs its continuation.”

Graves thumped a hand on the meeting table. “And it will have it.” He turned to leave, sweeping his cloak behind him and feeling the first risings of his temper.

Just as he was opening the door, another elder piped up, “If you had just taken a pureblood omega as we’d advised, you would have an alpha by now.”

Quiburn tittered, “Or maybe it is just your seed that is weak.”

Graves snarled and slammed the door behind him. He tried to convince himself that the accusation didn’t sting.

  


* * *

  


Graves dragged Credence into his room and pushed him on the bed, wasting no time in pulling Credence out of his robes and underthings. Credence went along with it silently, sensing Graves’ turmoil. He didn’t know where it came from, but in some way, it excited him. He clenched his thighs against a wave of slick and shuffled further up the bed. Graves wound a hand through Credence’s hair and tugged him into a kiss full of teeth. He pushed down on Credence’s shoulders, and then pulled his legs apart.

“Are you prepared?” he said.

Credence shook his head. “No, my lord.”

Graves sat back. “Then do it.”

Credence obeyed, reaching down and finding his entrance with his fingers. It was wet and loosening already, so he slipped in three fingers and pumped. It was too shallow, and he wanted more, but there was a dangerous glint in Graves’ eye that told him he’d better stretch himself out if he didn’t want it to hurt. Credence swallowed at the thought. Maybe he did want it to hurt. To be filled up to the brim until something gave, until the feeling of Graves’ cock drove his thoughts away.

Graves broke him out of his reverie: “Are you taking your herbs?”

“No.”

“Good.” Graves stuck a finger in alongside Credence’s own and Credence whimpered. Deciding he was stretched enough, Graves knocked his hand away and sunk into him without a word. Credence sighed at the sensation, shifting until it was comfortable for both of them. Graves started moving.

Credence moaned at a particularly deft twist of Graves’ hips and said, “Do you… Do you want to make another child?”

Graves growled and grabbed Credence’s hips, thrusting in harshly. “I want to make an heir.”

Credence felt guilt stab through him. It explained Graves’ turmoil, his rough movements. Credence knew he wasn’t doing his proper duty, wasn’t giving Graves what he wanted. Graves had been kind to him, too kind, and Credence only wanted to repay him.

Graves hiked Credence’s legs over his shoulders and pushed in further, making Credence mewl. The new position let Graves thrust against Credence’s prostate every time he slid in.

“I’m— I’m sorry,” Credence whispered, his hips grinding against Graves’. Graves grunted in reply, gripping Credence’s hips tighter.

His mother had made him suffer, had preached to him of his lustful nature, had tried to alternately beat the sin out of him and then, once she realised how valuable the quirk of nature made him, tried to beat a sense of duty into him. She told him, swinging leather over the skin of his hands and thighs until it cracked, that omegas were worth nothing without their wombs. That his duty was to please his alpha, to let them fuck him and to give them children. Credence had tried, in the last seven years, to forget it. Forget the pain, the hopelessness of his early years. 

Now, though, it was creeping up on him.

He knew how much Graves wanted an heir. Had felt the way he hoped, with every new pregnancy, that the child will be born alpha. How Graves had though Primula would be one, then Alana and Guinevere. Even when he came back, when he took Joseph in his arms and scented him for the first time, Credence could have sworn he saw disappointment flash in Graves’ eyes. Another child, another failure. 

And it was Credence’s fault.

Graves bit off a roar and stilled, hips pumping as he spilled into Credence. It broke Credence out if his reverie, but his mood was dampened so much that he’d gone soft. Graves didn’t notice—he just pulled out, sat back, and closed his eyes. Credence took that as a dismissal, and tried to breathe through the sudden tightness in his chest. It wouldn’t do good to cry now. Graves would just think him weak.

Credence was scared, irrationally, in that moment, that Graves would throw him away. It happened, didn’t it? Credence had heard. When an omega couldn’t give their alpha children, they were replaced. He wanted, needed to give Graves an heir.

He sat up and move until he was in front of Graves. Reaching out to get his attention, Credence whispered, “Graves? I want to give you an alpha.”

Graves opened one eye and looked at Credence with an unreadable expression.

Credence turned and presented, lifting his ass in the air.

“Please,” he said. “Take me again.”

  


* * *

  


Their fifth, an omega named Regina, was born the following summer, when the heat was at its most unbearable. She was a quiet, sleepy little thing, raising little more than a whine when she was hungry.

There was no heir in sight, no alpha, and Credence was feeling the weight of Graves’ disappointment. The atmosphere in the castle was growing tense, snapping at Credence’s heels wherever he went. He felt like a failure, was convinced the others thought it too, and had taken to staying in his apartments more often than not.

Graves still acted like it was all okay, but Credence could feel tension thrumming through him like vibrations on a string. Credence wasn’t deaf to the elders, could hear and see their hissing disappointment, and with every passing month it seemed to weigh Graves down more. Credence felt helpless to lift it.

When Graves tried to joke with him, Credence took it as pity, and couldn’t laugh.

Graves stopped.

  


* * *

  


Graves came in to Credence’s rooms one late evening in the winter. It was a cold one, with snows piling up high and steady outside the castle walls, drowning the fields in white tresses. The council of elders had received more letters from Alana in the south. Their liege lord, King Picquery, had caved to his decades-long illness, letting his daughter Seraphina officially take up the mantle she’s been shouldering before in all but name. The coronation was marred by rumours of fae dealings at the border. A war was coming, and it was eating Graves’ head in with arguments and preparations. He entered Credence’s rooms after that mind-numbing meeting, wanting nothing but to fuck his husband and sleep on a featherbed.

His plan was derailed in the most innocent way: the spot by Credence’s sleeping form was already claimed by their two youngest. They were curled around each other like puppies, seeking warmth against the night. Credence’s arm was thrown around baby Regina, and Joseph was sprawled over Credence’s thighs.

Graves froze at the door, watching the way the light from the fire spilled over the three of them. It caught the soft cheeks of the baby, the tumbling locks of the toddler. The graceful cheekbones of Credence, the long line of his neck. Graves could just stand and watch. They looked almost like a holy painting, the illusion broken only by their gentle breathing.

For a moment, Graves forgot his fatigue and desperation. It was just them, the gentle crackle of the fire, and the darkness of the night outside.

He stepped back out, careful not to make any noise, and shut the door behind him, leaving that little moment of peace undisturbed.

He backed out of Credence’s apartments and walked away.

  


* * *

  


Two weeks after the birth of their sixth child, a beta they named Olivia, Graves left on campaign to the south. Credence took that as a rejection, locking himself in his rooms and answering only to his children. Only the maids were allowed to enter. The kitchen staff left food by the door, where it sometimes stood to cool and be forgotten. Graves came back six months later, at the insistence of the elders that he try for an heir again, but even that was half-hearted. 

He left after a week.

Credence thought his mother had been right all along—what was he but a failed womb?

  


* * *

  


Graves’ didn’t return to the castle for two more years. He didn’t write, and even if he did, Credence saw no letters. He didn’t write either. What was the point of pretending anymore?

  


* * *

  


The south had become a pit of snakes since the start of his campaign. The fae royalty were growing bolder, sending marauders up far too close to their kingdoms’ shared border. Despite all of his actions, Graves was convinced the situation would end in war.

He returned home in the darkest part of autumn, exhausted and unaccomplished. His temper had frayed further when he was accosted at the gates by the elders and hounded for his southern exploits. He cursed as he remembered it—how dare they? A bunch of old, withered husks, who haven’t seen war in decades. Who were they to berate him?

He went straight to his apartments and ordered all of the elders barred, too tired to listen to them any further. He wasn’t sure he could control himself if they came. They’d been nothing but trouble for the last two years of his life, and he wanted nothing more than to spell them all dead with the nastiest of his curses.

Three days into his relaxing isolation, there came a knock on his door.

Graves didn’t move from where he sat in a chair by the fire, reading a thick book. “Who is it?”

A high-pitched voice came from behind the door: “Father? It’s me.” Primula, all of ten years old. A welcomed visitor.

Graves smiled and turned towards the door. “Come in, child.”

She stepped in carefully, shutting the door behind her, and bowed. Graves grinned at the formality, and motioned for her to come closer. She smiled and rushed over, hugging him with all of her might. Suddenly, the two years of absence between them felt like nothing.

“I missed you, Father.” She said it like it was a secret.

“I missed you too, my darling,” Graves replied, and pulled her up until she was seating in his lap. He put the book away and looked at this firstborn.

Primula had, as predicted, grown into a great protector. She had taken to weaponry like a bird to the air, aweing her instructors with her vigour. She was calm in the face of challenge, and roped all her siblings into a merry little gang that ran around the castle, filling it with laughter. All of them black haired and surefooted, like a flock of ravens in the tower roosts. Even the littlest ones who could only toddle were taking the castle by storm.

“Tell me about the south,” she demanded. Graves laughed and obliged, describing the border skirmishes and the endless battle plans to her. She drank it in and committed it to memory, and if Graves embellished some of his heroic acts for her, it was only because he wanted his daughter to think her father a hero. She looked like she did. Graves felt the tension leave his shoulders as he talked to her, returning him to peace.

Primula returned the next evening, and the evening after. Eventually, it became a ritual—she would come to Graves for stories of his exploits, and he would tell them whenever he could spare the time.

She started bringing her siblings with her, too. First, the eldest omegas, seven-year-old Alana and six-year-old Guinevere. They looked like twins, the both of them, with fine black hair and bird bones. Primula whispered conspiratorially that the two had driven away all of their nannies and teachers with their tempers, settling only when Credence agreed to teach them himself.

Graves didn’t ask about Credence. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his spouse since he came back, but he knew he was in the castle. The kitchens still made his dinners, though Credence wasn’t in the dining Hall. The kids vanished into his rooms for hours, but Credence never came out with them. Graves knew he shouldn’t feel disappointed with his omega but… the council was eating his ears with orders for an heir, and in some nasty part of him, Graves wanted to blame Credence for it. He also didn’t want to admit that Credence’s pointed avoidance of him… hurt. He couldn’t do anything about it. He didn’t have that anger anymore, the kind he had when he was twenty-four, that let him demand and impose himself onto people—not with Credence, anyway. If his husband never wanted to see Graves again, Graves would bend to his wishes.

Primula brought four-year-old Joseph next, and then the toddlers, Regina and Olivia, who’d both learned to walk but struggled with words. Graves spoke to them slowly, annunciating every syllable and hoping they would follow. They knew him the least—little Joseph barely remembered him, and Regina and Olivia didn’t know him at all. They’d been newborns the last time he saw them. Graves pushed away the guilt in his chest and promised himself he would do better.

The six of them gathered around Graves’ feet like a soot-haired kindergarten, listening to his stories and supplying him with their own. Did he know how Joseph learned to read this year? How Regina climbed the stairs by herself last week? How Alana and Guinevere had stolen Lady So-and-So’s dresses to put on a theatre production? How all six of them pranked the mean old Quiburn by filling his shoes with porridge?

Graves listened and laughed. He learned to look forward to the time he spent with his children, letting them lift the day’s worries off his shoulders and replace them with stories of mundane adventures. The next time he saw Quiburn, when the stooge was filling his ears with more sneering drivel, Graves imagined his shoes filled with porridge and struggled to hide a grin.

  


* * *

  


The younger kids tended to fall asleep sooner, so one night, several months after Graves’ return, only him and Primula were left awake. Graves had regaled him with stories of a siege that evening, and they had all jumped up to act it out with sticks and heroic waves of their hands. Even the toddlers helped, giggling and running after their older siblings. 

Primula was drifting off to sleep too, her head tucked under Graves’ chin. He was watching the fire and enjoying it’s warmth, patting little Joseph’s head on his thigh when Primula mumbled something.

Graves turned to her, blinking lazily. “Hmm?”

“You should tell your stories to Papa,” she said. “They would make him happy too.”

Graves stilled at the mention of Credence. This was the first real news he’d heard of him in a while.

“Is your Papa not happy?” he asked carefully.

Primula hummed, burrowing into Graves’s shoulder drowsily. “He said not to tell…”

Graves shook her gently, trying to figure out what she meant. “He said not to tell what, sweetling?”

Primula looked up at him with sleepy eyes. “Papa lost a baby last year.”

Graves froze at Primula’s words, his jaw clenching.

Primula continued, her voice sleepy and distant, not really understanding the weight of her own words: “The others didn’t understand, and he said not to tell, but…” She frowned. “He’s just been so sad.” She looked up at Graves. “You’ll cheer him up, won’t you?”

Graves nodded stiffly, trying not to show how much her words affected him. “Of course, sweetling.”

Primula smiled and tucked herself back against his shoulder, closing her eyes. “Okay.” 

She drifted away into sleep, and Graves was stuck thinking in circles about her words. Guilt clawed at his throat like a vice, casting him back to the last time he saw Credence. To his behaviour in the last few months, the isolation, the lack of a single act of acknowledgement for Graves. The last time they’d been together, six months into Graves’ stint at the south, Credence was morose and dejected, and Graves had been torn away from his warring at the most importunate opportunity, ordered to come back and try for an heir. Graves was still angry at the council for that, and lay with Credence tersely, neither of them expecting much from the encounter. Graves left, and they hadn’t met again. He’d thought Credence would understand.

Turns out, something did happen. A child, a baby that had taken root and lived and died without Graves even knowing about it. Credence had had to mourn alone, forgotten by his husband and adoptive clan. Graves hadn’t even been sent a letter to inform him of the death.

Gods damn it. Gods damn it all. Graves brought up a hand to his face and made plans for the following day.

  


* * *

  


Credence had eaten his dinner with Primula that night. His girl had smiled secretively, and even when he prodded she didn’t reveal the source of her amusement. She implied that he would understand when it happened.

“Primula,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Am I going to like it?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, finishing off her pudding.

Credence watched her until she was done, and then tried to smile. He’d been having trouble with that for a while now. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He thought it was getting better.

“Alright,” he said, and patted her on the back as she got up. “Off to your rooms then, don’t forget to wash your face before you sleep.”

“Okay, Papa,” she said, hopping off her chair and making her way to the door. Credence watched her go, following the pitter-patter of her feet. Just yesterday she was a baby, and now she was old enough to keep surprises from him. He thought he wanted to cry.

Just as Primula reached up to grasp the door handle, it turned by itself, and the door opened. Credence’s eyes widened.

“Father!” said Primula, grinning when Percival ruffled her hair absentmindedly. His eyes roamed the room until they found Credence, and then stayed there.

“Credence,” said Percival with an awkward nod. 

It was the first word spoken between them in almost two and a half years. Credence’s throat felt like it was full of nails. He was frozen to his seat, managing only a strangled noise in return to the greeting.

“I…” started Graves, before remembering Primula. She was still standing beside him, clutching at this sleeve. He patted her shoulder, sparing her a glance, and said, “Primula. Why don’t you go off to bed?” 

Primula, looking between Graves and Credence with the silent assurance that this was for the better, said, “Okay.” 

She tugged on Graves’ hand until he crouched down, and she pecked him on the cheek. “Goodnight, Father.” And then, softer, with a wave to Credence: “Goodnight, Papa.”

Graves followed her out with his gaze, and then shut the door with a quiet click behind her. Credence was caught between saying silent and calling after her to come back. To not leave him alone with Graves.

The room plunged into a tense silence, and Credence couldn’t breathe. The candles seemed to dim around them. He was chained to his chair, and wanted to move, to act, to do something but— He swallowed. What could he do? Run? Cry? Fall to Graves’ feet? He didn’t know what Graves wanted. Was he angry?

Graves turned to him, blocking the exit, and said in a low voice, “Why didn’t you tell me about the baby?”

That—Credence’s breath lodged in his throat like a fist.

Graves moved closer, creeping forward like Credence was a scared foal. Credence hadn’t moved from the table.

“Credence.”

“I…” whispered Credence, and his voice was wrecked. He licked his lips and sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

Graves looked pained. “No, Credence—”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. His eyes prickled.

Graves growled, and Credence mistook it for anger. What else could it be? He was an awful spouse, a disappointing, disappointing dam. He’d kept a secret from Graves, thinking it would make him look less pathetic.

“Why don’t you come out of your rooms, Credence?” said Graves.

Credence screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. The answer, the fact that he was too tired and weak and miserable to leave, was humiliating.

“Where are your handmaids?” said Graves.

“The elders dismissed them,” whispered Credence. 

“What?” said Graves, and Credence shrunk back from the anger in his voice. Graves was standing still just a foot away from his table, and Credence was thankful for that small piece of wood acting as a barrier.

Graves made a move to approach and Credence bolted up, backing away until the backs of his knees hit his bed and he collapsed into it.

Graves stalked forward, ignoring Credence’s whimpers. He was boiling with anger, hands clenched at his sides. He knew he was scaring Credence, he could see it, but he also couldn’t control himself. Not with what he was beginning to see.

“What else did the elders do?” Graves said, leaning over Credence. He looked Credence right in the eye, trying to find the truth.

Credence turned away, blinking away tears. His breathing was wet and ragged, and there were tremors running up and down his arms.

“What else did they do, Credence?” Graves growled, but he didn’t touch him.

“They said..” Credence sucked in a wavering breath and closed his eyes. “When I… When I lost the baby, they said…”

Graves leaned back, searching Credence’s face. There were tears running down his cheeks, and he was shaking like an autumn leaf.

“When I lost it,” whispered Credence, arms coming up to wrap around his chest. “They said I was being punished for my weakness.” He had believed them. He didn’t look at Graves, which was good, because Graves thought if he had to see the full face of Credence, filled with as much pain as his voice was, he’d go off to kill the elders there and then.

Credence mistook Graves’ silent rage as being directed at him. He lay down on the bed and curled up, trying to be as small as possible.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. This was it, then. The moment when Graves would cast him aside, send him back to the human world and let him rot there with all the people that hated him. The last two years of silence were leading up to this. Credence didn’t know what hurt more—Graves’ new anger, or his old and cold indifference.

Graves was quiet as a crypt above him, and, feeling hopeless, Credence began speaking.

“I— I’m— I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you wanted,” he whispered. “I’m sorry— I’m sorry that I— Please, don’t let the children forget me.”

Graves opened his mouth, frowning, but Credence shut his eyes and barrelled on:

“You can leave me, you can leave me anywhere you want, but please, please you must keep the children, they—” His voice hitched, and he thought of the witch hunts, of his children burned alive as changelings. “They won’t survive out there, they’re— They’re too different, they’ll be killed, they’ll—”

“Credence, what—”

He was seized full of fear, his eyes glassy and unfocused. All the years under his mother, the darkness and the pain, crashed into him. He couldn’t— 

“Please don’t give me back to her,” he whispered, horrified. He was looking somewhere past Graves’ shoulder, shaking so much his sight blurred. “I can’t— Please—” His voice broke. “Even if you never loved me, please, please— Just kill me— I’d rather die—”

“Credence!” Graves barked, and Credence snapped out of it. He felt his breath come in too fast to him, and leave too soon. He was drowning on shallow air. It made his heart beat faster, and he scrabbled for purchase on Graves’ shoulder.

Graves placed his hands on Credence’s shoulders and pushed him onto the bed. “Breathe, Credence, please. Just breathe.”

Credence shook his head, pushing against Graves’ chest until Graves let go and moved away off the bed, giving Credence space. Credence curled up with his back to Graves and clutched his throat, closing his eyes and counting his breaths until he felt them slow, felt his lungs suck in more and more air and he wasn’t drowning anymore. His head felt light, tired, and he wanted to sleep. To fall into a dreamless slumber and never wake him. His tears were salty on his tongue, and he only now noticed how they were dripping onto the bedsheets.

The mattress shifted behind him and he stilled.

“Credence,” murmured Graves. “Can I touch you?”

Credence didn’t say a word, but he didn’t deny him either. Graves could do as he liked, in his castle, with his possessions.

Graves took his silence and lay down behind him, pulling Credence close and flush to his chest. The simple contact made something painful in Credence clench, longing for more. He bit it off viciously.

“Credence,” whispered Graves, making him shiver. The room was silent save for the song of the nightbirds outside. “How can you say that I never loved you?”

Credence stiffened. Of all the things he thought Graves would address, that was not one of them.

“I would never fight so hard and so long for someone I didn’t love,” Graves continued. His thumb stroked over Credence’s arm, raising gooseflesh in its wake. “Argue even with the elders to keep you for so many years. But you are right—” He pressed a kiss into the back of Credence’s neck. “—I let them get to me, and make me forget my love. I’m sorry.”

Credence let out a strangled sob. It felt like a tide of them was behind some wall, clawing to get out.

“I love you, Credence,” Graves continued, murmuring into Credence’s skin. “And I love our children more than I love the sun. I won’t let anyone take you from me; not war, not time, not even my kinsmen.”

Credence shook in his arms, and Graves held him closer. His hand drifted to Credence’s stomach, rubbing circles over his clothes.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t here for you,” he whispered. “That I didn’t know about our lost baby. That I didn’t take the steps to learn.”

Credence let out a sigh and hiccupped. His breath didn’t hurt as much this time, and the tide had receded back into his chest. “You didn’t…”

Graves hummed a question, still stroking over Credence’s stomach.

Credence said, “You didn’t speak to me…” He swallowed. “For two years, you didn’t send a word.”

“I’m sorry.”

Credence nodded, as if that was enough. Graves would ask forgiveness for the rest of his life if he had to. The humiliation burned in him—to leave his spouse so lonely and forgotten for so long, to let a child pass without notice. It was a disgrace to his name, a black stain on his honour.

He kissed the back of Credence’s neck, feeling him relax and let go. The talking had helped, it seemed. 

“My husband…” Graves continued to whisper into the skin of Credence’s neck, almost like a prayer. “My omega, my spouse. I have betrayed my oaths of marriage to you. I would hold back the tide of war for you. I would take apart this castle as a monument to your grief. I will ask for forgiveness of every deity for letting you think any less.”

Energy seeped out of Credence with every breath.

Just before he fell asleep, Credence whispered, “I missed you, Percival.”

Graves’ arms tightened around Credence, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“I missed you too, my love.”

  


* * *

  


The door slammed against the wall as Graves threw it open, storming into the meeting chamber with his cloak fluttering like crimson wrath behind him.

“How dare you?” he snarled, pacing in front of the startled elders. “Do you coop of old bastards not have any fucking respect? For the Graves clan, if not for me?”

He heard someone gasp, and then Quiburn, the only one of the wrinkled trollops that wasn’t stunned into silence, spoke up. Graves felt the vein in his forehead throb.

“Percival, how wonderful to see you,” Quiburn said. “What is the matter?” Even his voice was annoying, a needling whine that grated on Graves’ ears. How did he not notice this before?

“I have half a mind to curse the lot of you to a well-earned grave,” Graves spat, walking right up to the ornate desk at which the elders delegated. He slammed his palms down on its surface. “After how you behaved with Credence, I am convinced you rightfully deserve it.”

Quiburn flinched, but his expression remained obtuse. “The human? What does he have to do with this?”

“You dismissed his entourage. You told my husband—” Graves waved a fist to emphasise Credence’s title. “—My husband, that the loss of his baby was a punishment.”

The elders tittered nervously. Quiburn sniffed, not catching on. Graves wanted to shred his wrinkled face, gouge the sunken eyes right out of his face. His magic broiled under his skin, spilling out to rattle the chamber’s windows. He’d burned men alive on the battlefield, melted skin from bone with just his breath and pent-up rage. Some of the smarter elders cowered, remembering exactly what Graves was famous for. His wrath was legendary.

Quiburn was the foremost of the clan elders, but also the stupidest. “It was a punishment from the Gods for his weakness,” he said dismissively, straightening his back. 

Graves barely held onto his rage.

“The death of my child—” he replied, low and dangerous. “—Is not a punishment.” His magic rattled in the corners of the room, betraying his control. “The suffering of my husband is not a test.” Graves looked Quiburn dead in the eye. “Or do you gloat at the loss of my child’s life?”

The blood had left Quiburns face at Graves’ words. Finally, the old man understood what this conversation was about.

Graves straightened. “Must I remind you what happens to blood traitors?”

One elder sputtered, finding the courage to speak. “W-we are not traitors!”

Graves grinned, savage. “Oh, but you are.” He began to pace up and down the room, looking every old stooge and hag in the face. “Laughing at the death of my progeny? Insulting my spouse with your vile superstitions? Disrespecting me by isolating my husband from his friends and family?” His anger picked up again, and somewhere, a glass shattered. “You neglected to even send me a fucking memo about the miscarriage, and you dare claim you’re not traitors to the Graves name?”

There was a deathly silence in the chamber. The accusations hung heavy in the air, all of them true and obvious. It was their job to protect Graves’ family, to guide and shelter them in times of need. They’d failed. The council had become arrogant, bathing in their false power like pigs in filth while Graves was gone to the south. He turned away from their ashen faces, disgusted.

“I’ve made my decision,” he said, and the tension mounted. He wouldn’t—? “I won’t execute you all, though I have the right to.” Some foolish ones breathed out a sigh of relief, and Graves spun on his heels, fixing them with a glare. He said, “I’ve decided to disband the council.”

The air filled with exclamations of shock and indignation.

“Quiet!” Graves roared. “Be thankful you can keep your lives!”

Quiburn stalked around the table, getting up in Graves’ face. “You cannot do this!” he hissed, shaking. “Without the council to sort the internal affairs, the Graves family would perish!”

Graves grinned, stepping into the old man’s air and poisoning it with smugness. “Then the council should have members that have my family’s affairs at heart, don’t you think?” He stepped forward, and Quiburn stumbled back. “In fact, I have just the person to lead such a council in mind.”

With a flick of his hand, Quiburn was tied up with invisible rope, left sputtering against the meeting table. Graves motioned for more chains, threatening the rest of the council with them, but they all sat down without a word and acquiesced. 

“Good,” said Graves. He sent a look around the room. “You will all leave the castle by three days’ time. If you don’t—” He glared. “—I will have you thrown into the dungeons and executed for treason.”

The old stooges titteres nervously, but Graves’ hard look silenced them. He pointed at an old man and two women. “Except for you three—you may stay. You are respectful to Credence and don’t yell at my children.” He knew; he’d asked his black-haired brood before he came here.

Quiburn yelled something, but it was muffled by his invisible gag. Graves ignore him, turning to leave.

“Three days,” he threw over his shoulder, opening the door. A quick word to the guards outside had them dragging Quiburn out and escorting the rest to their rooms.

 

Graves traversed the hallways of his castle, revelling in his victory. He’d wanted the council gone for years, and now he had finally done it. Time to find his new head elder and inform her of her promotion. He wondered if Credence would be pleased.

  


* * *

  


“The wetnurse?” said Credence, incredulous.

It had been two weeks since they started talking again, and every day was getting better. They were standing on an empty balcony overlooking the Great Hall. Primula and the rest of their little brood were playing tag amongst the chairs, dodging the few spare servants that were still cleaning the tables. Their laughter echoed in the steepled roof, ringing like summer bells.

Graves wrinkled his nose. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“I am, I just—” Credence looked away and swallowed. He looked unsure.

Graves lowered his head and said gently, “She raised all of our children, and half of the clan’s. If anyone has their best interests at heart, it’s her.”

Credence nodded. “I know, I’m just—” He frowned. “Will she be accepted?”

Graves leaned back, smiling. Of course Credence would worry about that. He took Credence’s hand, wondering at the fact that he could do this again, and kissed it.

“She will be,” he promised. “Otherwise, I will be having words with the family.”

Credence smiled. It was a lopsided, fragile little thing, staying on his face as if it was unsure of its welcome.

He raised his head and, hesitantly, placed a kiss on Graves’ cheek. Graves froze, focusing on the soft brush of Credence’s lips on his skin. It was like a butterfly. 

Credence drew back, and Graves turned, catching Credence’s mouth and deepening the kiss, pushing him against a column. Thank the Gods this balcony was a covered one, partly hidden from sight by an overhang.

Credence, first shocked, moaned into his mouth and hooked a leg around Graves’. Graves reached down and grasped at Credence’s thighs, pulling him up to his waist until he was holding all of Credence’s weight.

“Graves—”

“Call me Percival,” he said. “Please. Just this once.”

Credence looked down on him with a soft tilt of his head. “Percival.”

“Yes,” he breathed, and buried his face in Credence’s throat, sucking red bruises there. Credence gasped.

“Percival,” he said. “We should… we should go somewhere else.”

Graves nosed up the line of Credence’s throat and bit his earlobe, relishing in Credence’s breathy moan. “I like it here well enough.”

Credence groaned and pulled away. He put a hand on his chest and said, making sure Graves heard every word; “I want you in me.”

Graves froze, and drew back, looking Credence in the eyes. They were blown wide, black overtaking blue, and begging for something.

“Please,” whispered Credence.

Graves cock jumped at the word, so long neglected and forgotten. Graves remembered the last time he’d felt Credence’s wet heat, the carnal press of their bodies against each other, so so long ago. It made his head spin.

“Yes,” he nodded, very suddenly realising Credence’s idea was a good one. A brilliant one. “Yes, absolutely. Let’s go.”

He let Credence down, wrapping a possessive hand around his waist and tugging him away from the balcony. Graves spared a glance down the hallway, thinking of their next step. Credence’s rooms were too far, a whole flight of stairs down and on the other side of the Hall. For a split second, Graves cursed the architects that built his castle. Who the fuck thought putting the consort’s rooms so far away was a good idea? No matter—Graves’ own rooms were close enough. He tugged Credence in their direction, his hand moulding into the dip of Credence’s back.

After a few aching, painful moments, they arrived at Graves’ apartments, and he pushed open the door with force, shutting it behind them just as quickly. There were no servants here, thank the Gods, but the fire was going and the covers were turned down.

Graves spun Credence and guided him towards the bed, their feet moving in a sensual dance. Graves dipped his head down to catch Credence’s lips, letting his hands tug away belts and robes and breeches. Credence’s legs hit the bed and the sat back onto it, crawling back to make some space for Graves. He was already looking debauched, with his black hair mussed and his shirt hanging off his shoulders. Graves leaned over him and tugged it all the way off, reaching down to divest Credence of his breeches.

“You’re stunning,” Graves whispered, finally catching sight of Credence’s full naked form. Credence blushed, and his skin turned pink from face to chest. Graves followed it, trailing fingers over Credence’s nipples, to his stomach and the stretch marks there. When was the last time he’d studied Credence like this?

Credence caught his arm and led him lower, past his hardening cock and down between his thighs, where he was already slick and waiting.

“Please,” he said.

Graves smirked. “Impatient?”

Credence whined, spreading his legs wider. Graves’ breath caught at the sight of Credence’s entrance, the pucker long-darkened through birth and breeding. His once-virginal omega was now wiser to the world, and his body had created six of Graves’ dearest treasures. Graves’ fingers drifted there, slipping in and stretching out the muscle. Credence sighed in pleasure, sinking back into the bed.

Graves thrust and stretched until Credence’s slick was dripping down his arm and Credence was mewling, writhing on Graves’ fingers. Deciding he was ready enough, Graves crawled over him, dropping his head to run kisses along Credence’s jaw.

“Look at you,” he murmured, lining himself up. “Is my omega so needy for me?”

Credence growled and opened his eyes, moving his hips up to grind against Graves’. The hardness Graves felt there gave him a clear answer.

“Please,” Credence hissed, hooking a leg around Graves’ hip. “Want you in me, please—”

Graves buried his head in Credence’s shoulder and groaned, reaching down to grab Credence’s legs and line himself up. He pushed in with a hiss, and Credence gasped, hands coming up to dig into Graves’ hair.

“Yes,” Credence whispered. “God, ahn—!”

Graves grunted and snapped his hips forward, silencing Credence by brushing against his prostate and pushing him up the bed. Graves did it again, and again, driven on by Credence’s hands tugging and pulling at his hair.

“Credence,” said Graves. “Credence—”

He pulled out, manhandling Credence until he was on his hands and knees, presenting to Graves.

“What—” said Credence, and Graves thrust in. Credence moaned and collapsed onto the bed, letting Graves tug at his hips and set the pace.

“Do you remember our first time, Credence?” Graves grunted. His hips slapped against Credence’s with a filthy noise.

Credence just panted in reply, turning to look at Graves. His eyes were full of molten heat.

“Eleven years ago,” said Graves. “Wasn’t it?”

“Must we remember now?” Credence gasped, pushing back against Graves’ cock. It was slowly driving them both mad, this half-thought pace. Credence shook every time Graves moved in him, driven forward by the momentum.

“The same cock for a decade,” Graves grunted, changing his grip on Credence’s hips. “Are you not tired of it?”

Credence thought about it—as much as he could think with the lightning spears flashing through his groin every time Graves filled him up again—and said, quite honestly, “No.”

Something in Graves relaxed. He stroked up and down Credence’s flanks, breathing in the scent of sweat and slick.

“Are you not tired of the same c-cunt?” said Credence, staring at the headboard.

“No,” said Graves.

Credence sat up so that his back was against Graves’ chest, and said, “Good.”

Graves hissed at the new position. If he reached around, he thought he’d be able to feel his cock through Credence’s stomach. 

“I want to—” said Credence, panting. “I want to feel you, Percival.” He wound a hand behind him, pulling Graves closer to his back.

Graves kissed his neck and moaned. 

“I’m close,” he said. Credence whined and nodded in return, pushing back harder and faster while he chased his peak.

Graves bit his tongue and came, digging his fingers into Credence’s hips. Credence reached down to tug at himself and came soon after, whimpering and dropping his head back onto Graves’ shoulder. His come spilled out in strings over the bedsheets, sticky and sweet.

Graves turned his head and looked at it, trying to catch his breath.

“Filthy,” he whispered. He kissed up Credence’s neck, tasting his skin and finding it was salty with sweat. Credence laughed—a dry little chuckle—and leaned into Graves, turning his head into Graves’ ear.

“Mmm,” he whispered, making Graves shiver. “I wonder what else we can dirty up?”

  


* * *

  


A month later they heard more news of the banished elders. Most had been taken in by old friends and distant relatives, left in peace and powerlessness. The kinder ones had kinder fates, and the meaner ones didn’t. They were left to grow old, like anyone else.

Quiburn, the old fool, was left marooned in a distant crumbling castle, served by a contingent of ghosts and withering nuns. He’d grown too reliant on his position, arrogant enough to spurn his allies and step on others to climb to power. Nobody had wanted to take him in, disgusted by his mannerisms and habits.

Credence, once he learned about what Graves had done, worried that the distant family would call Graves disrespectful, but Graves wasn’t worried. The elders would all say they had left the council on their own, and not that they were banished. The reasons for their punishment were too shameful, too horrific. 

Graves finalised the installation of the wetnurse Missus Baneley as his new head of council. Tina assured him that it was a good choice.

  


* * *

  


“Remember you asked, a while ago, if I ever tired of your cunt? I thought I did, once,” panted Graves, fucking into Credence with quick, jabbing snaps of his hips.

Credence, too blissed out to be hurt by Graves’ words, whined, “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because—” Graves broke off to moan when Credence clenched his ass around him. He drove in harder and watched Credence throw back his head. “—Because I really thought I did, until—”

He pulled Credence’s legs up higher on his hips. “Alana brought me to a brothel, in the south, during the long campaign,” he said, grunting. “And I looked into the faces of the best whores in the kingdom, and do you know what I thought?”

Credence cared only about the cock pummeling his prostate, each hit wringing mindless pleasure from his gut and bringing him closer to his high. Still, he managed to ask, “What?”

Graves leaned in, and the new angle made Credence’s voice hitch. He brought his mouth to Credence’s ear and whispered, “I thought that there was only one body I wanted to bury my cock in—” He punctuated his remark with a snap of his hips. “—And he was already waiting for me at home.”

His hand on Credence sped up, and came with a scream, his head thrown back and spine arching with the strength of his orgasm. Graves grunted and followed, pulled to his peak by Credence’s muscles clamping down on him and squeezing him dry. He buried his face in Credence’s shoulder and bit, tasting salt and iron and the honeyed spice of Credence’s scent. 

His seed rolled out of him in waves, each one ebbing and flowing till Credence was whimpering under him and squirming away, saying something about being too full and too sensitive. Graves let go and whispered and apology, kissing Credence on the lips. Credence opened his mouth, snaking a tongue in Graves’ and pulling him closer, spreading his legs so Graves could slip out of him and lie down.

They kissed until Credence started drifting off, and even after then, Graves had his lips pressed to Credence’s forehead as they slept.

  


* * *

  


They snuck kisses and quick tumbles like newly-weds, hiding in empty corridors and buttress nooks. Credence tasted just as sweet after a decade of marriage as he did before they even tied the knot, back when Graves was an arrogant lordling who knew more about possession than love. 

Tina learned to wait for the door to be opened for her after she stumbled onto them mid-act. Both her and Credence had gone as red as lacquer, and Graves laughed himself silly. At least it hadn’t been an envoy, or one of the kids. 

Tina didn’t look them in the eye for half a month.

  


* * *

  


“Papa, aren’t you going to eat anything?” said Joseph, tugging at Credence’s sleeve.

Dinners were reserved for feasts, guests, and political games, but breakfast was for close family. They were eating theirs together—him, Graves, and the kids—in an airy room at the higher levels of the castle. The windows were open to the early spring breeze, thick winter curtains yet unchanged and waving lazily.

Credence turned to Joseph and smiled. “No, I’m not feeling hungry.”

Graves looked up and frowned. “Are you alright, Credence? You’re looking a little ashen.”

Credence smiled again and nodded. He got up and straightened his robes. “I think I’m going to go and lie down. Please finish without me.”

Graves opened his mouth to say something, but Credence was already leaving, his steps a little hesitant.

  


* * *

  


The Great Hall was warm to the point of discomfort. Graves had dressed in his heaviest furs, got caught unawares by the sudden afternoon heatwave, and was now regretting his choices. Primula, sitting to his right and dressed to the nines, seemed to be in a similar predicament. Graves did his best not to sigh. At least the younger kids were better, having begged off being in the Hall right after eating and vanishing into the cooler parts of the castle. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go?” he murmured, leaning right.

“No,” Primula said. “I’m grown up, I’ll wait.” Her black curls were starting to stick to her forehead.

Graves didn’t know if he felt proud or exasperated. At twelve, his eldest was shaping up to be just as stubborn as he was. He watched her fidget out of the corner of his eye, trying to make up his mind and be stern, when he was distracted by an uncle.

“Lord Graves,” the uncle said, bowing and smiling softly. Graves replied in kind—this was the same man who’d guided Tina and Queenie into his care all those years ago. “I trust your health is good?”

“Is it,” Graves said.

“And your daughter,” said the uncle, nodding at Primula. She did her best to nod back just as nobly. “I hear her strength grows by the day.”

Primula blushed, and Graves embarrassed her further by clapping her on the back.

“I trust my offspring are not the only thing you want to talk about this evening?” Graves said, turning back to the uncle. No matter how much he loved talking about his kids, business would always win out in these events.

The uncle nodded with an apologetic expression. “Duty calls.”

“When doesn’t it?”

The conversation devolved into politics. The fae at the southern border were an ever-present threat to them, but they’d gone suspiciously quiet in recent years. The uncle was concerned about their troops at the border, convinced that a surprise attack was imminent. At some point, Primula stopped paying attention and looked away. Graves continued talking strategy, discussing possible measures to bring up with Queen Picquery.

“At the same time, we wouldn’t want to provoke the fae with an increase in numbers,” the uncle mused.

Graves hummed in agreement. “I’m sure Queen Picquery will want to hold off on an increase as long as possible anyway. Her father dealt a lot with—”

Primula poked him in the side. “Father—”

“—Primula, just a moment—with political fluctuations at the border until the end of his life, I’m sure she wouldn’t want to take the same toll onto herself now that the situation is—”

“—But, Father—”

He motioned for patience, and continued talking to the uncle. The discussion was getting to the important part. “The situation is more settled than it has ever been before.”

The uncle nodded and stroked his chin. “Yes, that makes sense. She is still, after all, reconciling her own power within the court after her father’s passing.”

“I will send a messenger to Alana and see what she has to say about—”

“—Father!”

Graves turned, his mouth open and ready with a reprimand for Primula, when another cry interrupted him. It was high-pitched and terrified, coming from the other side of the hall. Graves’ teeth snapped shut and he whirled his head towards the sound, breath stuck in his throat. What on Earth—?

“Papa!” Primula’s chair screeched back and she was already running, sprinting towards the other side of the Hall where Credence was dining with his attendants. There were more shocked exclamations, and he couldn’t see through the clamour around that table. Finally, the crowd parted and—

Graves’ blood froze at the sight. 

Credence was slumped over himself, and any skin Graves could see was deathly pale. He got up without thinking, feet already moving.

“Shit—”

“The Prince Consort!”

“Get a doctor!” Graves bellowed, storming towards the table. The Hall plunged into chaos, attendants and servants and nobles all harried by the terse tension coming off their lord. 

Credence was breathing, but shallowly. His skin was feverish, sweat cold to the touch when Graves put a hand across his neck. Credence moaned at the contact.

“Graves?” he slurred, trying to rise.

Graves shushed him and hooked a hand around Credence’s chest, heaving him up into a sitting position. He was heavy, a dead weight, and Graves’ muscles strained. He pulled Credence closer to his chest, hoping that their combined momentum would make it easier, and then Graves’ nose landed in the crook of Credence’s neck. He inhaled, and—

His blood burst into fire.

He choked. “Credence, you—”

Credence squirmed in his grip, panting. When he looked at Graves, his eyes were dulled.

Graves’ breath came out strangled. In a flash, he decided his next step, hooking his other hand around Credence’s knees and heaving him up. Suddenly, Credence weighed nothing. 

“Lord Graves, the doctor—” one of the servants tried to say.

“Move,” Graves growled, and the servant squeaked as she leaped aside. 

Graves pushed past her without thinking. He wasn’t thinking, not really, not now. Screw the feast. Screw his attendants and the servants and the now mostly-empty Hall, cleared by the tangible tension in the air. Graves could feel his magic rolling off him in ichorous waves, almost visible. It helped the less-sensitive of his guests clear a path for him too. He walked dumbly, his feet just knowing exactly where he needed to go. 

Straight, left, left again. 

Doors. Wooden doors. Push. 

Walk. 

Faster.

He didn’t hear the noise of the Hall fade—he didn’t hear anything. Only the pounding of his heartbeat, the roar of his blood in his ears.

“Graves—”

“Shh, we’re almost there.”

His rooms had never felt so far away, and never so close. In a blink, they were there. Graves didn’t remember how they got here, or how the doors were locked behind them, or how he’d walked through all of his apartments and found his bed through the haze.

Here, Credence’s scent felt overwhelming. It flooded every nook in the room, seeping into the stone and wood until is suffused the air. Graves inhaled, felt it curl like languorous smoke in his gut, and exhaled molten steam.

“Graves, what’s happening to me, I’m—”

Graves set Credence down gently, so at odds with what he wanted to do. What did he want to do? Graves didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. He only knew the smell, the rolling energy, the dark, possessive want that slowly took over him until nothing was left.

“Credence,” he breathed, crawling up the bed and boxing Credence in with his whole body. Graves felt his teeth itch to mark. “You’re in heat.”

Credence moaned, and the sound shattered something between them. In an instant, Graves was on him, consuming his mouth with a desperate fervour. Credence whimpered into the kiss, his hands coming up to fist in Graves’ hair and pull him closer, impossibly closer, till there was nothing but clothes between them. Graves’ fingers tore at the fabric, sending pins and buttons flying, tearing stitches and catching their skin in thread. Neither of them felt it, too deep into the red haze of lust to care. When the leather of Graves’ vest wouldn’t tear, he growled like a wounded animal and threw it off violently, taking the opportunity to pull down Credence’s trousers in the same go. His smallclothes came off in the same motion, and at the sight of Credence’s hard cock, Graves snarled. He took it in his mouth without thinking, swallowing it down to the root.

“Graves!” 

He felt more than saw Credence throwing off the rest of his clothes, letting them tumble to the ever-growing pile on the floor. He looked up, his mouth full, and saw that Credence was left wearing only jewellery. It felt appropriate; it felt right. Credence should be covered in jewels, gleaming always under firelight like a star. Graves purred his appreciation, feeling a jolt of pride when the vibrations made Credence cry out.

Credence pushed at his head, pulling Graves up by his hair until Graves relented and released his cock. Graves bit Credence on the hip for the little display of aggression, and stalked up to lie across Credence’s chest.

“What?” he snapped, teeth bared.

Credence looked close to tears, not having realised what he’d done when he pushed Graves off. 

“Please, I—” he tried, and then swallowed. “Need—”

Graves knew exactly what Credence needed. His own cock, swollen and heavy between them, had known all along. The scent of Credence’s slick was starting to become unbearable, permeating the air and seeping into everything. Graves could drown in it, would drown in it if he could. He opened his mouth to taste it in the air.

“Please!” Credence sobbed, writhing.

In another time, Graves would want to draw this out. Make Credence beg for it, make him cry and squirm until they were both blue with the need for it. Graves loved seeing his husband on the brink, standing on the precipice between animal and man and choosing pure carnal desire every time. 

Today, however, Graves just hooked Credence’s thighs around his hips, lined himself up, and plunged.

Credence screamed, nails digging into Graves’ back. Now that Graves was inside him, neither could stop. Their pace picked up speed viciously and stayed that way, both moving like they would die otherwise. The felt like they would. Every desperate twist of their hips, every meeting of flesh against flesh felt like it was driving them towards some terrifying cliff that both were eager to jump off of.

The bed creaked and rocked with their thrusts. The old oak had survived everything, but was not prepared for this. Would it break? Graves would do his best to try. He pushed Credence’s legs further, up to his shoulders, and thrust in deeper. The new angle had him seeing stars.

Beneath him, Credence was an incoherent mess, having lost his ability to speak a few minutes ago. Or was it hours? Graves felt like he’d been hearing the harsh moans and sobs for days now, the sound as familiar to him as his own breathing. Somewhere in there was the jumble of his name, surname and birth name both, twisted up into erotic perfection by the creature under him. What was the creature’s name? Graves saw white skin, dark hair, a red mouth open in ecstacy. He pushed his thumb into it, feeling molten spit coat his finger before the creature bit down and shuddered.

There was a splatter of come on Graves’ stomach—Credence had come—but Graves didn’t stop. If anything, that seemed to drive Credence wilder, his moans climbing in pitch until Graves could swear the windows resonated in it. The whole castle would hear. Who cared? His thoughts drifted aimlessly in his head, his soul instead focused on the place where their bodies met. Every snap of his hips had heat rushing through him, pushing him on and on until the end.

“Credence, I—”

His orgasm ripped through him, snuffing out his words. A surge he’d never felt before had his vision going white. He could feel his hair stand on end, his toes curl. His hand gripped Credence’s thigh and left bruises.

“I feel it,” Credence gasped. His eyes stared up at the bed canopy, sightless, his inner self focused on the growing feeling of tightness in his abdomen. His insides were painted white.

Graves groaned and screwed his eyes shut. His limbs would not obey him, shuddering uncontrollably. He sucked in a breath and pushed it out with a gasp, letting go of Credence’s thigh.

“Shit!”

His actions blurred together. He slipped out of Credence and collapsed beside him, panting. His breath misted the already-heated room. Sweat rolled off of them like rain, their bodies cooling rapidly with the sudden absence of exertion. When Graves pulled Credence closer, however, Credence was molten-hot.

“Graves…” Credence breathed, his hand coming up to stroke Graves’ cheek. Graves looked him in the eyes, and they were dull with heat again. “I want…”

Graves swallowed against the lump in his throat. Somewhere south, his cock began swelling to attention.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Graves whispered fervently.

Credence smiled, but it was predatory. His slick scent rolled off of him in waves, more potent than any magic. Whoever said mortals were powerless had clearly met none.

Graves cursed, rolled them both over into a more favourable position, and lined himself up again, sinking in with a grunt. 

They’d be there for a while.

  


* * *

  


Graves relearned every contour of Credence’s body. His skin grew marks where none had ever been before. It was intense to the point of being maddening—sweat, slick, sliding between them and pooling in the deepest parts of them. He thought he’d seen Credence in every state of disarray, and had never been proved so thoroughly wrong. Images burned under his eyelids—Credence’s legs, Credence’s mouth, Credence’s body arching over and over again in release. Credence’s face flushed, tears gathering like dew on his eyelashes, his tongue red and wet and darting out as he panted. Their scents combined until Graves was sure he could never smell anything else again.

Somewhere in that haze, Graves had stumbled to the doors of his apartments and found food outside. The locks were spelled with sealing magic he hadn’t used since the war. He reapplied the jinx as he closed them again. The thought of disruption made him want to maim something.

He tied Credence down with summoned rope at some point, fastening his hands above his head and watching Credence writhe pitifully. It was the only way to give Graves enough time to rest. Credence was insatiable.

At some later point, the ropes had vanished back to where they’d come from, and they were once again free to torment each other.

Credence stopped talking completely, and soon Graves stopped too. They didn’t need words here, not like this. Credence looked up at him with eyes full of feeling, and Graves thought he would drown. He heard echoes of words, mere imprints of thought, resonating in his head. Credence’s voice was sweet and begging for him. Graves staked claim on it by biting deep, renewing their bonding marks every time they fucked. Every time, it sent Credence over the edge. Every time, the thought of someone else seeing Credence like this made Graves’ magic spark like angry fire, and every time, Credence calmed him with his sweet gasps.

They broke the bed.

  


* * *

  


Credence’s heat broke. Graves realised this because suddenly, thinking actual thought didn’t seem to be a struggle. He woke up with a gasp, his nose clear of the red haze for the first time, and sucked in a lungful of cool air. 

His body was wrecked. They were lying together on the mattress, sheets long-ago discarded in piles around the bed. Graves was freezing. Credence didn’t stir.

Graves lifted his head up—a mistake—and looked for the closest blanket to them. He reached for it—another mistake; his muscles screamed at him—and pulled it over them both, trying to get warm.

Credence moaned and shifted, brushing up against Graves’s cock. Graves would never admit that he yelped, but the sound he made at that was painful. He jerked away, which only made the situation worse: now everything hurt. His back, his legs, his abdomen. Everything was as stiff as a rock.

“Fu—ck,” he hissed, trying to breathe the pain away. It wasn’t helping.

“Graves,” Credence mewled. “It hurts.”

“I know, love, I know.” Their faces were both screwed up in discomfort.

“I didn’t know it would hurt,” said Credence.

“Shh.” Graves stroked Credence’s back, and it seemed to make it better. His hand drifted lower down Credence’s back, and stopped at the dip. Credence whimpered.

“Hurts here?” said Graves, and he wasn’t talking about Credence’s back.

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Wait.” Graves groaned and with a struggled, pushed himself up onto his arms. They burned, but he continued, cursing all the while. Finally, he could look down on Credence and see everything.

“Damn,” he said.

Credence’s face scrunched up and he tried to uncurl from his foetal position. “Graves…”

There were bruises everywhere. The largest masses were around Credence’s hips and the backs of his thighs, with some clear imprints of Graves’ fingers and others just indiscernible masses. Credence’s neck and shoulders were littered with teeth marks in varying stages of healing. There was one ambitious bite on the inside of Credence’s thigh.

“Is it bad?” Credence whispered, like he couldn’t feel himself.

“Nah,” said Graves, letting his fingers trail over Credence’s body. Had he done that? How? His fingers tweaked Credence’s nipples and Credence hissed. There were stiff and swollen, the nubs a perfect cherry pink. Graves did always love all of his husband’s assets. His cock gave a brave twitch, which only made Graves bite his lip in discomfort. Damn. What had they done to get into this state?

Well, the marathon fucking certainly hadn’t helped.

“You look like hell,” Graves said.

“You’re no better,” Credence replied.

Graves let out a startled laugh, and Credence smiled. Sunlight filtered in from the windows, illuminating them both. There were birds outside, chirping. Slowly, other sounds of the castle began seeping through, bringing them out of their little cocoon. 

“How long has it been?” Credence muttered, looking at the window. He tried to sit up.

Graves reached over to help, and they both managed to leverage themselves into seated positions. Credence closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and slumped against Graves.

“Three days?” said Graves.

“What happened?”

“Feast.”

“The kids?”

Graves hummed. He didn’t know. He thought he’d seen someone, in the last three days, who told him not to worry. “I think they’re with Tina.”

“Good.”

Neither of them wanted to move. Both knew they had to. Graves dreaded the thought of actually standing. He didn’t think he’d survive the indignity of falling down. 

“I don’t remember it being this intense,” Credence said.

“Hmm?”

“The heat.”

Graves thought back. The last time Credence was in heat was before they married. Graves was passing through the mortal world when he’d scented an omega. He remembered it as a shattering moment: the sweet, ripe-peach flavour, suffused through with carnal salt. He’d never smelled anything like that before. He was intensely drawn to it, to the small creature from which it was coming from, hiding in the forest from other humans. Credence was innocent then, so scared and in need of protection. Graves wanted to possess. He’d never wanted something so clearly in his life.

“You went through it alone last time,” Graves said. As impulsive as he was all those years ago, and despite his roaring need, Graves hadn’t made his presence known to Credence. He just watched, enthralled, and kept the other humans at bay. He saw Credence writhe with want and cry out for relief, and didn’t do anything. His first time seeing a human in heat. It changed him.

“We have ten years ‘till the next one, then,” said Credence. Graves looked over at him and saw Credence’s conflicted expression.

“Missing it already?” he said.

“Right now?” Credence raised and eyebrow and looked down at himself. “No.”

Graves remembered Credence’s blissed-out face, the languorous stretch of his body. Maybe he would hire a painter to capture it in colour sometime, and hang it above the fireplace in this room. His own personal vice. 

“I do,” said Graves. “The way you presented for me so prettily, moaning loudly enough to—”

Credence scowled at him, and with a vicious smirk grabbed Graves’ abused cock. Graves yelped and curled in on himself, slumping into Credence. 

“Gods, alright, alright! I take it back!” he gasped.

Credence huffed in triumph and let go. Graves cursed him under his breath. “A vixen, a cruel—”

“Don’t test me right now, husband,” Credence shot back.

“—seeking to damage my honour, my lineage—”

“The only lineage you’re getting is from this body, and I don’t see you worrying about damage.”

Graves stopped and looked up at Credence’s frowning face. “You’re right.” Graves bent down and placed a soft kiss on Credence’s stomach. “I’m sorry, my love.”

Credence’s frown held for a moment before it started wavering. He closed his eyes and sighed good-naturedly, “God. I just can’t stay angry with you, can I?”

“No,” said Graves, looking up at him and kissing Credence’s sternum. He trailed upwards, anointing every bruise, and then finally made it to Credence’s face. His lips were chapped but soft under Graves’.

“We need to get up,” Credence whispered.

“Yes.” Graves continued kissing him, hands stroking up Credence’s sides.

Half an hour passed like that, just trading affections between them. Their bodies warmed under the midday sun, soft and pliant. Credence’s sighs melted into Graves’ mouth, and his fingers twisted into Graves’ hair gently.

“We need to go,” said Credence, keeping Graves’ face close to his.

“Yes,” Graves breathed back.

Eventually, they did part, though a little mournfully. Graves’ muscles had unwound, and he decided he would at least be able to survive until the evening without collapsing. Somehow, through great concentration and effort, he made it off the bed, and even managed to find some clothes. No vest, no cloak, not even smallclothes. Too much. A shirt and loose trousers will do. He hissed whenever the cotton brushed against his dick so trying to fathom a belt at this point wasn’t an option.

He made his way towards the door in a daze, and then realised Credence wasn’t with him. Graves backtracked until he found Credence in bed, just where he’d left him.

“Credence?” he said, frowning.

Credence looked at him, frustrated. “I can’t walk.”

“Ah.”

  


* * *

  


“Father and Papa had to take care of some urgent business,” Credence said, smiling at their children.

“In Father’s rooms?” said Primula.

“For three days?” added Alana.

Credence’s smile didn’t waver, but it did solidify into something desperately strained. “...Yes?”

Her parents were wearing floor-length robes with full sleeves and high collars, and their scents were drowned in perfume. Primula’s face scrunched up. She really, really didn’t want to know, but she was twelve. She had an inkling.

“Let’s discuss what you did over these three days, hmm?” Graves interjected, picking up Olivia and Regina. “What did _you_ do?”

Behind them, Tina and Queenie shared a comisserating look. This was going to be an awkward discussion, and they didn’t know how they managed to end up in the middle of it.

  


* * *

  


Somehow, Graves remembered his conversation with the uncle from the feast. He sent a letter to Alana, and received a reply a few weeks later.

It was all quiet on the southern front. They hadn’t seen or sensed fae activity in weeks. The last border skirmish was months ago. The troops were on alert but optimistic. It seemed like the situation was resolving without a need for war.

Graves breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, he would be able to remain at Castle Graves and do his duties here.

  


* * *

  


Graves felt like he encountered Credence’s scent more often these days. It was everywhere; wafting from around the corner as he walked through the castle, drifting from the other side of the Hall during dinner, seeping into his sheets and not leaving for days on end. Sometimes it would linger hours after Credence was gone, just floating in the air. Graves could follow it and find his husband. 

He’d never had this ability before. Sure, he always had a great nose—he was an alpha—but that was usually reserved for other alphas and unbonded omegas. One to fight and one to fuck. Credence was neither. Plus, Graves’ nose for omegas had worn off about two years into his marriage anyway. Why was it showing up again?

Regardless of cause, it was starting to drive him mad. Not in the arousing sense, but just because it was so distracting. Every time he’d sense it, he’d lose his train of thought trying to pinpoint the exact mix of scents. Cinnamon? Milk? Cardamom?

“My Lord…?” his advisors would trail off, and Graves would curse, shake his head free of thoughts, and try to get back on track. Every time it happened, the people around him would frown deeper.

One afternoon, Graves even pulled Tina aside to talk about it.

“Has Credence’s…” He motioned at his nose. “Gotten stronger in the last few weeks?” It was a little impolite to talk about another person’s smell but manners be damned at this point.

“My Lord?” Tina balked. Her mouth worked to form words. “Lord Credence… never smells like anything. In all the years that I’ve known him.”

“Ah,” said Graves.

“...Do _you_ smell him?” she asked tentatively.

Oh, well. Shit. He wanted to end this conversation, now. “Let’s move on.”

Tina breathed out in relief and nodded fervently. 

Graves guessed that he was just imagining it. Or become over-sensitive. He didn’t know. Best not to think about it before it drove him mad.

  


* * *

  


It was driving him mad. Even Credence was starting to become tetchy with it.

“What’s wrong?” Graves said, propping himself up on his elbows. 

They were in his bed, and the evening had barely started. There was no feast planned for today, no meeting or urgent message to keep Graves into the night, so they decided to take advantage. Running the castle was a little more tiring than Graves had expected it to be, and even with the council pulling their weight, there was a lot of work. Even Credence was finding more and more of his time occupied—Alana and Genevieve were growing up, and as their dam, it was Credence’s job to find them tutors and suitable matches for the future. The wealth of families wishing to tie their names to the Graves’ was overwhelming. 

Now, though, they had an evening for themselves, but Credence kept squirming.

“I don’t know,” he said, and lay back down on the coverlet. “I just… can’t get comfortable.”

He shimmied down and spread his legs, but then closed them again. He said, “I feel strange.”

“Strange how?” said Graves.

Credence hummed and looked up, hands drifting over his abdomen. “Somewhat… sore?”

Graves tried to remember if they’d done anything strenuous recently. His mind came up blank.

“In your back?”

“Yes.”

“Flip over.”

Credence did. Graves let his hands push into the muscles surrounding Credence’s spine, kneading them loose. Credence moaned and melted into the bed, breathing out.

“Ahn—yes, just like that, God,” he said, stretching out to give Graves more access. 

Graves’ hands trailed lower, settling into the dip of Credence’s back. “Here?”

Credence hissed his pleasure and Graves continued, working all the coils in Credence’s muscles loose. There were a lot of them, unusually, and Graves couldn’t figure out why. 

Credence’s scent got stronger the more he relaxed.

Inexplicably, Graves’ cock stood to attention. He grunted.

“Credence,” he said.

Credence felt Graves against his thigh and sighed in delight. His hips canted up in invitation.

“Are you sure?” Graves said.

“Yes.” It came out as a breath. Graves stopped massaging and trailed his hand down to Credence’s entrance, pushing in. It was dripping. Credence’s muffled grunt matched Graves’ inhale.

“Gods, Credence—”

“Please,” said Credence, and thrust back onto Graves’ finger, taking it in whole. He was molten on the inside, leaking steadily.

Graves choked out a strangled breath and fumbled violently with his trousers, desperate for them to come off. The tension took on a new edge. He needed to be inside Credence, now, immediately.

Finally, he was free. He sunk in with a few rolls of the hips, bottoming out. Credence hissed out one long breath and moved back, spreading his legs further.

“Move,” he grit out.

Graves grabbed his hips and obliged.

Later, with Credence dozing beside him, Graves attempted to name what he was feeling. It wasn’t just lust, though there was plenty of that. Not just a taste for pleasure, and a desire to get it only from Credence. It was deeper. Possession. Protectiveness. Besottment. 

Graves scrubbed his chin with one hand a sighed.

  


* * *

  


Credence woke up. It was the middle of the night. He was in his quarters. Graves was working, still probably down in the library.

He felt… strange. His back ached frequently these days. He snuck his hand around to his pine and pressed down, trying to relieve some of the knots.

The nausea hit him hard. He bolted up without a thought, racing to his chamberpot and emptying his stomach into it.

“Shit…” he whispered, wiping his mouth. It burned with the acid.

At least that explained the muscle pains.

  


* * *

  


Graves was sitting in his study. The annual crop yield reports were giving him trouble. It seemed like the farmers had both a surplus and deficit at the same time, and he didn’t understand how that could be.

Credence knocked on the doorframe. Graves hummed in question without looking up.

“I’m pregnant,” said Credence.

Graves’ pen dropped. His jaw, too. Suddenly, something in his mind clicked. Not the crop yields, something else.

He whispered in wonder, “I knew it…”

“Great, because—wait… what?”

Graves jumped up, startling Credence. “I knew it!”

Credence gaped as Graves borderline-skipped around his ornate desk and grabbed him by the shoulders. Credence sputtered, “Knew it? But how?”

“Your smell!”

“My smell?”

“Yes!” Graves grinned, planting a kiss on Credence’s mouth. Credence blinked up in shock.

  


* * *

  


News travelled fast. 

By noon the next day, Elder Baneley had pulled Graves aside and asked him to confirm Credence’s pregnancy. He bent to her height and did, with some confusion. Why did the elders need to know at this stage?

“My Lord,” Baneley said with a disappointed air. “Have you forgotten?”

He waited for her to explain, his confusion growing.

“A pregnancy after a heat,” she said. “Is blessed by the Gods.” Her eyebrows rose pointedly.

“Ah,” said Graves, still not understanding. He wasn’t very knowledgeable in omegan traditions.

Baneley said, “You’ll need to be throwing the Lord Credence a celebration.”

“I—” Graves licked his lips. “I will be?”

“He’s human, so he wouldn’t know,” she said, and then nodded. “But yes. You want this one to be an alpha, correct?”

“I think—” Graves started and then stopped. He straightened and pressed his lips together, thinking. His first urge was to answer yes, but with deeper thought… He didn’t really care about the assignation of this child. This circular argument had caused them so much grief in the past, and Graves would never want to bring that back into their lives.

His silence seemed to please Baneley, because she smiled up at him and patted his arm. “Then at least prayers for the child’s health should be said.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea.”

“Would you like me to plan it?” she asked. 

Graves’ stance went lax with gratitude. “Please.”

She chuckled and folded her arms into her sleeves. “You must remember that I raised more than my fair share of babies, my lord. I’m only glad to see this new arrival welcomed by all.”

And with that cryptic comment, she walked off. Graves stood there, in the hall, watching her go, deep in thought. It was Olivia on his mind, this time. She’d developed a hobby of learning long words. Last week, he’d asked how she wanted to celebrate her fourth birthday and she replied with ‘perfunctorily’. He was sure he’d heard a servant choke. 

Graves smiled softly. He was looking forward to a new baby. With that final thought, he folded his hands behind his back, and continue on his way. Duty called.

  


* * *

  


“Percival,” Credence whispered, leaning into him.

In front of their table, the jesters were starting to get into the meat of their routine. The feast was a surprise to him, sprunk after a week of catching both his servants and his kids whispering conspicuously in corners of the castle. He was pretty sure he’d seen an actual bear being hidden under one of the tablecloths earlier. He placed a hand over his tiny bump.

“Hmm...?”

“I’m not…” Credence licked his lips. “...understanding the purpose of this.”

Graves tore his attention away from the jumping entertainers and smiled warmly at Credence. “To celebrate your heat pregnancy.” He paused. “Why? Do they do it differently in the human world?”

Credence blushed a scarlet red all the way up to his ear tips.

The reaction made Graves arrive at certain conclusions. “... Do they?”

“Yes,” Credence forced out. He wasn’t looking Graves in the eye.

“How?”

Credence opened his mouth once, then a second time, lost for a proper explanation. He said, “Private celebration.”

Graves’ smile took on a more salacious air. He glanced at the jesters, and then back at Credence, taking his hand and anointing it with a soft kiss. “That can also be arranged.”

  


* * *

  


Credence’s pregnancy developed well.

At three months, his stomach began to round into a pleasant bump. It had been almost four years since Credence was last pregnant, and Graves rediscovered the joy of harassing his husband with constant stomach pats. 

Credence wasn’t finding this stage as fun—his morning sickness had come back with a vengeance, as bad as it was during his first pregnancy. He was constantly lethargic, cursing Graves under his breath every time he heaved up his breakfast and couldn’t get anything more down.

At sixth months, the sickness went away, replaced instead by constant, needling _lust_. Credence found a new reason to curse Graves, with colourful new expletives.

“If I ever let you put another baby in me, so help me God,” he hissed, on his hands and knees in Graves’ bed. Graves’, his mouth too preoccupied with Credence’s entrance, only moaned. They were covered in sweat and spit and various drying fluids, and had been at this for hours. Credence arched and mewled, “There—deeper, ah—!”

Graves reveled in it all.

  


* * *

  


“It’s going to be an alpha,” said Credence.

They were once again in Graves’ bed. It was evening. Credence stomach was swollen enough to rest both of his hands on it and still fit Graves’ on top. 

Graves looked up, and mistook Credence’s conviction for nerves. He said, “Credence…” He searched for the right words. “...You don’t have to worry about this child. It will be loved all the same.”

“I’m not worried,” Credence replied. His eyes were bright and clear. “I’m certain.”

Graves kissed Credence’s hand and let it go.

  


* * *

  


The birth started smoothly. 

Credence had woken up in the small hours of the morning with a pain rolling over his stomach. He grunted and woke his servants up, asking them to call for the midwife.

“It’s starting,” he said, and then fell back into bed, determined to get as much rest beforehand as possible. The servants scurried off, rousing the castle.

By noon, everyone of importance was gathered in Credence’s rooms. The midwife and her cohort of nuns were gathering materials necessary for the birth. The kids had been settled in with Tina, Queenie, and other members of the court to await the news. Graves was pacing outside, barred from the room but ever-present in the tension of it. He wouldn’t be let in until the baby itself started crowning. Every time he heard Credence moan in pain, his heart rate picked up. He didn’t understand why he was so nervous—Credence had given birth six times already with no lasting complications. There was no reason to expect this time to be different.

By suppertime, Credence was still only in the middling stages of labour, and Graves had had to deal with some last-minute castle business. He sent a letter to his sister Alana and to anyone who should know, telling them to expect an addition to the Graves’ household. He was half-tempted to use magic to speed the messengers along, just to get a reply back. 

Instead, he went to see his children, and explained to them in his best words what was happening. Primula, Alana and Guinevere already knew, though Guinevere seemed to be the most worried. She’d been four when Credence gave last gave birth, and was terrified that something would go wrong. Joseph, Regina and Olivia didn’t understand fully, but did their best. They saw that their two eldest siblings weren’t worried, and followed their lead.

At midnight, Graves was back again at Credence’s door. The midwives told his regretfully that the labour was turning out to be a long and difficult one.

“Is Credence okay?” he asked, twisting his hands behind him.

“He will be, once it’s out.”

They were interrupted by a pained groan, and the midwife excused herself, disappearing back into the apartments. Graves’ eyes followed her with a tired anxiety until the doors shut, blocking him out. There was another pained groan.

Graves told the guard at the door to wake him if anything changed, and then went back to his rooms, collapsing into sleep.

  


* * *

  


Credence was so tired. His thoughts felt muddy in his head, sluggish and slow when he tried to articulate them.

“If I ev’r let him put his dick in me again,” he slurred, head lolling. “I sw’er—ahn!” He let his head fall back as another spasm passed through him. “S’blood—pig, fucking—!”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the midwife, already used to this. She wiped his brow with a damp cloth. “Hold on for just a while longer.”

“I can’t,” he said. It came out high-pitched, and he realised he was crying. “I can’t, I’m so tired!”

“Just a while more.”

The pain was constant, like the sea. Always rolling. It pushed and pulled until he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He lost feeling in his legs, his stomach; his head floated above a fog of dulled feeling. It was too much. He felt like this baby would never come out, would just remain stuck inside him in perpetual agony. He gasped as another contraction hit.

“Please—!” he sobbed. He didn’t know what he was asking for. Above him, the canopy of his bed swam.

“I think it’s safe to call the Lord in now.”

“Please—!”

  


* * *

  


Graves was woken up by a messenger boy holding a candle. He jerked up out of his bed, already knowing what this was for. The boy averted his eyes as Graves dressed hastily, and then lead the way to Credence’s rooms.

Inside, the midwife was calling orders, and the scene was dominated by the white dress of the nuns. They swirled seamlessly around the room, passing cloth and bandages and bowls of water with dancer-like precision.

One pulled Graves to the side, bowed, and said, “My Lord, please take a seat over there.” She gestured at a chair near the headboard of Credence’s bed before rejoining the fray. Graves sat, and his hand immediately reached for Credence’s.

“Credence,” he whispered.

Credence looked up. His eyes were dull with exhaustion.

“Percival,” he whined, and gripped Graves tight.

Graves shushed him, stroking his hair. When a contraction hit, Graves could feel it through the way Credence arched and groaned.

“The baby is crowning!”

Graves could tell that Credence wanted to scream, but he had no energy. Every push was signalled by a forceful exhalation and a bit-off grunt. Credence’s skin felt clammy to the touch.

“Push, love,” Graves whispered, leaning in. Credence gasped and did as he was told, the muscles of his stomach rippling with the effort. Graves placed a hand there too, feeling everything inside move.

“Again,” said Graves. “You’re doing so well, keep going.” Credence’s eyes fixed on him and didn’t move away. He bared his teeth with the effort of it, tensing everything he had. He did it again.

“One more!” said he midwife.

“One more, Credence,” repeated Graves.

Credence’s nails dug into Graves’ hand, his breath stuttered in his chest, and then he gave on last push, crying out.

A shrill wail broke the air, and Credence collapsed in on himself with relief. Graves’ attention split between him and the new arrival in the room, his eyes wide in wonder.

The midwife bundled the baby up in clean cloth, checking it over with a careful eye. Satisfied, she handed it to Graves.

“Percival,” Credence whispered, turning to him. “What…?”

Graves looked down at the newborn and opened his mouth. Scent, information flooded into him, catching his breath. 

“A boy,” he breathed, holding the bundle to his chest like a treasure. “An _alpha_.”

“I… told you,” Credence managed to push out. His body slumped, spent. The dark circles under his eyes looked even more prominent. Then, another spasm pushed through him, causing him to grunt. The midwife called something out, and then nodded to Graves. It was done. Credence had finally finished. He could rest.

Graves turned to tell Credence that it was safe to sleep and found him already passed out. His skin was flushed with exertion, and faint tremors ran up and down his limbs. Graves pressed down on them with one hand, stroking. Credence didn’t stir at the touch. 

  


* * *

  


They named the boy Tristan, and Graves wrote letters to Queen Picquery announcing that the heir to the Graves House had arrived. She wrote back promptly with congratulations and an addition to the official kingdom registry. 

At only a few weeks old, Tristan was turning out to be a tough little champ. He and Primula hit it off immediately owing to the similarity in personalities. Both of them were quiet and stubborn.

Credence was worried that their younger beta and omega children wouldn’t like him, or at least wouldn’t like what he represented. 

“Why do you say that?” Graves asked.

Credence licked his lips and said quietly, “Because… my youngest sister was an alpha.” He swallowed. “I loved her, I really did, but living knowing that in my mother’s eyes I was always worth less than her was… difficult.”

“Oh, Credence,” Graves said, and then stopped. He would never understand this feeling. He wondered if Alana and Primus had ever felt this way, and was suddenly desperate to ask. Instead, he pulled Credence closer and wrapped his arms around him, realising this conversation was about more than just their children: “They know they are loved. Nothing can ever change that.”

Credence didn’t relax fully, but something in him became slightly looser. His arm came up and pulled Graves closer in turn.

  


* * *

  


Their brood acquired a new straggler. Tristan, determined to keep up with his siblings, learned to walk, and learned to walk _fast._ Credence struggled to keep up with him, and later the wetnurses did too.

Primula was his favourite. Tristan liked to sit by her and watch her read.

“I used to do that too,” Graves said one day. Credence hummed and looked up at him from where he was leaning on Graves’ shoulder. Graves added, “Primus was the one I looked up to most growing up.”

“What about Alana?” said Credence.

“She was five years older than me, and more interested in warfare than babies.” Graves shrugged. “We bonded more when I learned to pick up a sword.”

“Hmm.” Credence put his head back on Graves’ shoulder. “Hopefully it doesn’t take the rest of them that long to come together.”

  


* * *

  


One evening, Tina came into Graves’ study with a request. It was late, and Graves was mostly done with his paperwork.

“It’s about Queenie,” Tina started, and then hesitated. “She wants your blessings.”

“My blessings?” Graves blinked. “For what?”

“Marriage, my lord.”

“ _Marriage?_ ”

He called for the servants to fetch Credence, saying it was urgent. Credence was there in record time.

“ _Marriage?_ ” he said, echoing Graves’ words.

Tina’s face was red as an apple. She fidgeted. “Yes.”

“Gods,” said Credence, putting a hand on his forehead and looking distant. “How old is she now...twenty?”

“Twenty-one, my Lords,” said Tina.

“Twenty-one already…” Graves murmured. The years that passed had never felt to tangible as they did now. Graves still pictured a twelve-year-old when he thought of Queenie, and was shocked every time he was proven wrong.

“And who is the suitor?” Credence asked.

“The baker, Master Jacob,” said Tina.

“Ah,” said Graves.

“Well.” Credence turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “At least he’s a proper sort. I’ve heard good things about him.” Credence had been getting into his consort duties seriously in the last year, since the first of their children were approaching engagement age.

“But…” said Graves, appalled. “She’s too young!” If it was already time for Queenie to marry, then how little time would it be before it was Primula’s? Alana’s? Guinevere’s?

“I was younger when we married,” said Credence.

“That was different.”

Credence stopped, turned to Graves, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Different _how_?”

Graves sputtered. 

Credence pointedly turned back to Tina and said, “Well, you have my blessings.” He shot Graves a withering look. “My _husband’s_ , on the other hand…” Then he turned and walked out.

Graves’ mouth opened and closed in shock. “Credence—!”

Tina looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. It was her duty as the older sister to secure her sister’s right to marry, but the Lords were like uncles to her more than anything else. Getting them involved so formally felt incredibly awkward. Plus, she herself was still dealing with Queenie’s sudden desire for matrimony—one Tina didn’t understand. 

To be caught up in a fight between her Lords on top of that was just…

“Tina, please, excuse me,” said Graves, shooting her an apologetic look. He was quickly sorting his final bits of paperwork to go chase after the offended Credence.

Tina nodded gratefully, and left.

The castle was winding down for the day around him as he walked. Through the narrow glazed windows that dotted the walls, he could see the sun setting.

He chased Credence through the halls, calling out his name, reaching him only when Credence had disappeared into his own rooms. Graves huffed, followed him in, and shut the door behind them.

His hand landed on Credence’s shoulder. “Credence, honestly—!”

Credence turned and shrugged off Graves’ hand, fuming. “Don’t start!”

Graves was lost for words. “...Credence, please.”

“What was that whole thing back there?” Credence started, stepping into Graves’ space. “ _Too young?_ What was I, a stooge?”

“That’s not what I—”

Credence’s expression grew more and more incensed. He looked like he was trying to gather his argument. He said, “Do you _regret_ marrying me?”

“What? Of course not!”

Credence looked like he didn’t know whether the answer pleased or enraged him. “Then _what was it?_ ” he snapped.

He stood in Graves’ face, breathing heavily. He was furious, and Graves had never seen him like this. Tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes. 

Suddenly, Graves understood. 

This wasn’t about Queenie. This wasn’t about the argument in the study. He cupped Credence’s face carefully in his hand and whispered, “Credence, what is this about?”

Credence flinched, eyes going wide. He’d been seen. A tear spilled over, and Graves brushed it away with his thumb.

“Please,” he said.

Credence swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a breath, full of old pain: “You took advantage of me.”

Graves’ felt like he’d been slapped. His hands froze in their motions and he breathed, “—What?”

“I was too young,” Credence repeated, his voice wrought. “And you took advantage of me.” Somehow, he was still there. He hadn’t moved, not an inch. He just stared at Graves’, his face full of emotion.

“Credence,” Graves whispered brokenly. He had expected everything but this.

“I loved you,” Credence rushed to get out, grabbing Graves’ hand to keep it on his face. “And I love you now. I do. I love our home and our children, and marrying you and coming here was the best thing that ever happened to me.” His voice cracked. “But those first few years were _hard.”_

Graves remembered. The shock lodged in his throat turned into unbearable guilt, and he _understood_.

He’d been gone a lot. Credence was on his own, surrounded by strangers and nuns and children too young for him to handle alone. 

He remembered stillness, the quiet. 

Separation.

“The pressure I was under,” Credence choked out. “To give you, to give your family an heir, an alpha child.” He looked up and released a wet gasp. “ _God,_ I— Every time, I would _fail_ , and you’d look at me with so much _disgust_ — _“_

“Credence, that’s not—“

“ _Don’t,_ ” he snapped, and closed his eyes, breathing out. “Maybe you didn’t mean it but that’s what I saw. I just kept failing and _failing_ you and then you’d leave me alone in this castle surrounded by people that _hated_ me—“ He breathed out again, wiping his face with his sleeve. He looked away, seemingly calming himself. “—and I know that’s not true. That’s not fair. I had servants, I had the kids, I had Tina and Queenie and even some friends, but…”

Graves scarcely dared to move.

Credence continued, “I remember being in a really dark place and not knowing how to deal with it on my own. But I had to. So.” He looked down. “So… seeing you now, cautioning others against making the same mistakes… against marrying young, I—” His voice petered out into silence.

Graves’ throat was dry. He tried to swallow, and couldn’t. It was stuck.

Credence gathered himself a little and said, “I’m not angry with you. Not really.” He wasn’t looking at Graves. “I’m just…”

“Credence,” Graves whispered, turning Credence to face him. “How long have you been feeling this way?”

Credence swallowed, and his gaze flittered over every part of Graves’ face. “A while? I—” The tears overflowed, but he didn’t seem to notice. Graves watched them run. “The last few years have been so good, and we’ve been good, it’s been good, and I just—I didn’t want to—” He swallowed thickly, looking up at Graves with desperation. “I didn’t want to ruin it, but it hurt, it always hurts, and I—” His voice cracked and dimmed. “I don’t know how to make it _stop_.”

Graves’ talent with words failed him. He looked at Credence like Credence was about to fall apart, shatter like ceramic. Credence was so _afraid,_ and Graves wanted nothing more in his life before than to protect him. To shield him from the monstrous pain of the past. 

He pulled Credence in, hesitant, making sure that Credence wanted to go. He did. Graves folded him into his chest and held him there.

“You hurt me, Percival,” Credence whispered, and Graves’ heart broke.

“I know,” he replied. “There is _nothing_ I regret more.”

Credence let out a strangled sob and his fingers dug into Graves’ chest. Graves held him as he shook apart, his own guilt gripping like a vice around his throat. 

Here was his husband, the dam of his children, the consort and protector of his castle—scared, in pain, and suffering because of Graves’ mistakes. Because Graves, as a foolish young man a decade ago, didn’t know a treasure when he saw one. Memories of Credence—younger, smaller, weaker—flashed behind his eyes. Where was Graves to protect him then? Too preoccupied with himself to notice? Too duller and deafened by the scorn of others to pay attention to a gift?

“I’m sorry,” he heard himself saying. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Credence only sobbed harder, burying himself in Graves’ hold.

They sunk to the ground, wrapped up in each other. 

For the first time in more than a decade of marriage, their pain had come clean.

Later, when Graves was sure Credence wouldn’t go back into the dark, when he had him curled up in his arms and they were lying on the bed, he got his attention. Credence blinked out of his daze and looked up at Graves.

“Credence,” he started, licking his lips. “You must promise me something.” He held him a little tighter. “You must _talk_ to me.”

Credence looked like he wanted to draw away, but Graves had to continue. He’d had time to process Credence’s words, and remembered his own feelings from the time. It was best if they all came into the open now.

“All those years, I—” He wasn’t sure how to say this, but he persisted. “I didn’t know how you felt. I thought that, maybe… Do you remember when I left for two years?”

Credence nodded timidly.

Graves said, “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me, so I never tried.”

Credence frowned.

“You never sent a word,” Graves explained. “Nothing. For a year before, you were withdrawn and sad and I didn’t understand _why_.”

He looked down in time to catch Credence’s expression. It was something fragile and confused.

“I thought you knew how I felt,” Credence whispered. “I thought you were tired of me.”

“Oh, Credence.”

They lay together for some time in silence, just thinking. There was a whole story the other didn’t know there. It was a black spot in their history.

“Tell me about those two years,” said Credence. “And I will tell you about mine.”

Graves smiled gently and agreed. This was a weight coming off his chest.

He told Credence about the dreary campaign, the long winter in the south where the cold never came and the rains never stopped. He told him about his sister, his men, and the constant escapades. The letters from the council, filled with vitriol and disappointment, and how Graves’ head was filled to the point of bursting with it until he wasn’t himself. He told Credence about the brothel, and how in his delusion and hurt he’d convinced himself Credence had found a lover. How he’d tried to bury the anger and how he realised he was only disgusted at the idea of being with someone else. How confused he’d been.

Then Credence shared his story in return. The pain. His mother’s voice in his head, constantly preaching hatred and lies. The slow erosion of Credence’s power at the hands of the elders, the banishment of his handmaids and the seclusion to his rooms. The way he lay for days in his bed after his miscarriage, wanting to die. His children’s worried faces bringing him back. How he’d known when Graves was back and how he hid himself out of fear of seeing rejection on Graves’ face. The reunion.

The talked from sunset and well into the night, finally drifting off to sleep. It was the most peaceful night either of them had had in a while.

  


* * *

  


Things felt… easier, after that night. It had lifted something from their shoulders, and Credence especially seemed lighter now, more vibrant. His laughter came out crystal-clear and sharp like spring water, bubbling to the surface. Their children too, were brighter. They had felt a tension between their parents, and were freed when it was gone. Their family flourished.

Queenie married Jacob a few months later, in a beautiful ceremony at the castle’s shrine. Tina stood by her sister and cried watching her exchange her vows, tossing up rose petals and pearl-seeds under Queenie’s feet.

Credence had finally settled firmly into his role as consort, now that his old ghosts had given up their hold. He looked comfortable delegating staff, arranging duties and jobs and advantageous couplings for the castle’s inhabitants with ease. Graves was flooded with requests for matrimonial leave and combined wages, as well as permits of retirement. It seemed like the whole castle was beginning to turn its gears and walk into the future.

As for Graves, he was falling in love all over again—with Credence’s smiles, his quiet companionship, his hidden playfulness in bed. The way Credence would look at him deviously after a particularly good tumble and have Graves’ blood boiling like was a young soldier again, rearing from his first rut. His nose became attuned to Credence’s scent like a divining rod to water, keeping him company even during the dreariest meetings.

  


* * *

  


In the autumn, he received a letter from Queen Picquery. It came tagged with the royal seal and wrapped in blood-red ribbon, delivered not by a messenger but by a crow familiar. The bird eyed Graves thoughtfully before cawing out a warning and flying away.

The Queen was coming to Castle Graves.

Preparations were immediately made. The west wing of the castle was cleared a repurposed for the royal party. The stables made space for extra mounts. The kitchens were told to stock for a hundred more than usual. Everywhere, servants and scribes and scullery maids came alive with endless work in anticipation of their guests.

They arrived just as the first snows set it, dusting the roads with white powder.

Graves greeted Picquery with his whole brood in tow, standing side by side with Credence. The kids bowed in unison, looking slightly terrified. Primula, the oldest at fourteen, stepped forward to take the Queen’s mount.

“A fine daughter,” Picquery said, glancing at Primula with a pleased nod. Primula blushed.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Graves. “I hope your journey went well.”

Picquery hummed. “I’d’ve preferred not to make it at all, but…” She raised one eyebrow.

Graves’ polite mask broke into a grin. He stepped forward to shake Picquery’s hand and to pull her into a heavy hug. They’d fought together, years ago, when they were both young soldiers in the south. The friendliness had stayed. 

Picquery clapped him on the back with a laugh, and then stepped forward to Credence. “So this must be your husband,” she said. She extended a hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Credence shook her hand and bowed.

Graves thought that was that. He was wrong. Picquery continued slyly, “Never heard someone sound as randy as Percival did when he described you pregnant.”

Credence choked and his ears turned red. “I—when...?”

Picquery looked up. “About… six, seven years ago?” She looked at Graves. “We were in a brothel.”

Graves looked scandalised, and Credence knew exactly which brothel they were talking about. Apparently, a variety of Graves’ realisations happened in that brothel.

“ _Thank you,_ Seraphina,” Graves gritted out, motioning for her to move. “Please don’t harass my family with battlefield stories.”

“Gods, Percy,” Seraphina scoffed, motioning for her retinue to follow her in a castle. “One would think I just spilled all of your greatest secrets.”

Graves snorted and walked in after her, shooting Credence an apologetic look. He waved back, a little dazed. It wasn’t every day that the Queen brought up your husband’s lascivious tendencies. The party left with some clamour, moving further into the castle.

Behind him, Guinevere turned to Primula and said, “What does ‘randy’ mean?”

Credence whirled around and pointed at Primula. “ _Don’t_ tell her that.”

Primula scrunched up her face and glared at him. “Wasn’t even thinking about it. _Gross._ ” She looked down, looked up, and repeated, “Papa, _really gross._ ” 

Credence stifled a sigh.

  


* * *

  


Later that day, after all the eating and drinking and talking was done with, Credence left to tuck their four youngest to bed. Joseph was the least pleased, insisting that at eight, he was grown enough to stay up with his older siblings. As a compromise, Credence put him to bed last, giving him more time to settle in.

“It’s not fair,” he huffed, lying down. Around them, the servants finished drawing the curtains and setting out chamberpots. In the room next door, Olivia and Regina were already asleep.

Credence sat down at Joseph’s bed and brushed his hair away from his forehead. “Next time, alright? You can stay up.”

Joseph bit his lip. “Really?”

“Yes,” said Credence, and then raised both of his eyebrows. “But you have to be good.”

Joseph pouted and conceded with a small nod. Credence moved to stand up, but Joseph snagged his sleeve. He said, “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“Is Father going to leave again?”

Credence stilled, and thought about the royal party resting downstairs. The Queen had made no mention of anything important all night, but Credence knew it was there. He’d seen the letter she sent to Graves, full of tension and promise of war. Something was brewing.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. He tried to smile, and kissed Joseph on the forehead. “But you don’t have to worry about that, alright? Go to sleep.”

Joseph was barely two the last time Graves left, and almost five when he returned. It was long, too long, in the eyes of a child. Credence could understand Joseph’s anxiety. He was feeling it too—their life right now was perfect. He wished that there was something he could do to keep it that way, but knew that there wasn’t. Graves’ duty to his kingdom was important to them both. They would just have to live with the separation for a little while.

  


* * *

  


Three days later, Credence was woken up in the middle of the night by a dip in his bed.

It was hours after the official part of the evening’s dinner had finished, and most of the guests were long-retired to their rooms. Only Graves, Queen Picquery, and a few old generals had stayed in the Hall, talking. 

Now, though, Graves was crawling towards him. Credence sat up in surprise and inhaled, smelling alcohol.

“...Graves?” he whispered.

Graves let out a noncommittal grunt and pushed Credence down with his weight, kissing him deeply. Credence squeaked into Graves’ mouth, the sound quickly changing into a moan when Graves’ hands twisted into Credence’s hair and pulled. 

“Graves,” Credence tried again. “What are you—?”

“Shh,” Graves replied, kissing him again. “Please, just let me—”

He twisted them around, so that Credence was now lying under him. Credence felt Graves’ hardness dig into his hip, and groaned in surprise.

“Jesus, Graves, it’s the middle of the night,” he hissed, kissing Graves back. 

Graves grunted and rolled his hips, making Credence squirm. His own libido was rearing its head in interest, making him twist in delight. Heat pooled low in his stomach. He spread his legs subconsciously, letting Graves settle between them. The covers tumbled to the floor, but neither of them noticed.

“Fuck, Credence,” Graves murmured, breaking away to breathe. “Want you.”

The desire in his voice made Credence whine. His leg hooked around Graves’ leg and he pulled him closer, until Graves’ cock ground against Credence’s ass. He was wet there already. Graves groaned, head dropping into the crook of Credence’s neck, and his hips jerked forward.

“Come on,” said Credence. His hands pushed his smallclothes down and out of the way, throwing them aside. 

He expected Graves to pull off his own trousers and get to it, but instead, Graves moved down the bed and grabbed Credence’s hips, pulling them closer. His mouth found Credence’s entrance and _sucked,_ tongue probing deep inside. Credence gasped and then bit his lip to stifle it, squirming. Heat lanced deep inside him, and his toes curled with pleasure. Graves pulled his hips up, and licked until Credence shook with it, whining. His cock bobbed every time he couldn’t control the jerk of his body, dribbling precome.

Graves let go as abruptly as he started, letting Credence’s hips drop to the bed and crawling up until they were face to face. His eyes were almost black with arousal, pinning Credence down. He bared his teeth and claimed Credence’s mouth, letting him taste his own slick on Graves’ tongue. 

“Fuck,” Graves hissed, beyond words. He fumbled one-handed with his breeches, not even bothering to get them fully off before he freed his cock and lined himself up.

He pushed in slowly, letting them both feel it. Credence groaned at the stretch, his fingers digging into Graves’ back and his ankles hooking together, guiding Graves in. When he bottomed out, they both sighed in relief.

“Fuck,” Graves repeated.

“Move,” Credence said, rolling his hips. “Please.”

Graves obeyed, drawing out and then thrusting back in deeply. Credence gasped and did his best to move in turn, clenching his ass. 

Graves grunted and did it again. 

Their hips slapped together obscenely, the pace picking up until it was a constant, dirty sound. Graves bit into Credence’s lip and grabbed his hips, taking control.

Credence felt his arousal built. His cock was trapped between them, and every thrust sent more waves of delicious pleasure up Credence’s spine. He reached a hand to it to help himself, but Graves slapped it away. Credence whined, and Graves quietened him with a rough kiss.

“Just this,” he said, punctuating the words with a jab of his hips.

“Please,” said Credence. His hands dug weakly into the sheets around them, trying to anchor himself in some way. 

Graves grunted and sped up, pounding Credence into the mattress. The bed shook, the old wood creaking. Credence wondered briefly if they’d manage to break this one too before even that thought was fucked out of his head. He was close.

“Percival, I’m—”

“Come for me, husband,” Graves hissed, driving deeper.

Credence tried to choke off his scream and only partly succeeded, the sound coming out wrecked and desperate. His spine arched as his cock shot clear come over his stomach, his inner muscles spasming deliciously. Graves grunted but kept going, his pace stuttering slightly.

Just before it could become uncomfortable, Graves’ thrusts faltered. His fingers dug into Credence’s skin and he screwed his eyes shut, breathing heavily. 

Credence felt him shudder and still inside him, spilling.

“Shit,” Graves hissed, thighs still shaking from the force of their exertion.

Credence swallowed thickly. 

Graves collapsed beside him, trying to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell, sweat cooling in the chilled air. Credence turned to the side and threw an arm over him, moving closer. Graves pulled him in and sighed.

They lay there, quietly, just letting their heart rates settle again. The room smelled like both of them, comforting and old. Graves even managed to wipe them both down with his discarded shirt. It was peaceful.

Suddenly, though, Credence understood what this was about. The late hour, the alcohol, the tangible edge of desperation in the way Graves fucked him.

“You’re leaving,” he said, and licked his lips.

Graves didn’t say anything. His thumb kept stroking over the skin of Credence’s shoulder.

“When?” said Credence.

Graves said, “Next week.”

Credence blinked up, and then said, “For how long?”

“I don’t know.” He swallowed. “A year, at least. Maybe two.”

Credence let out a breath to steady himself. This was it. What he was afraid would happen, and it was happening. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at Graves. Graves blinked back.

He didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” said Graves, and Credence pressed his lips together.

“Don’t be,” he whispered, lying back down. He curled himself up under Graves’ arm and said, “It’s what you have to do.”

“Yes,” said Graves.

They lay together well into the night, falling asleep only when the first light of morning started filtering through the windows. They said nothing else.

**Author's Note:**

> look at this disaster man i started writing this in august 2017 and then let it just kinda sit for 6 months before picking back up again  
> and thats the writing process  
> just let it stagnate until suddenly its 3am half a year later and you need to Write or Die  
> i literally graduated and found a career path in this time skip between writing this  
> goddamn
> 
> title from "bad blood" by sleeping at last ["We know it all by heart/The whole is greater/Than the sum of its parts/We've heard it all before/In beauty there echoes a speck of our source"]


End file.
